


QUEENS AND PRINCES

by rubyelf



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M, References to Mpreg, unpleasant things happening to characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite a long lifetime of making a career out of getting himself in trouble, Legolas is now far over his head, and Gandalf and Galadriel are called upon to attempt to undo his work. Meanwhile, the twins are entrusted to keep Faramir entertained and end up telling him quite a few things he didn't know about his elf and his secrets. Part of the Rubyverse AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	QUEENS AND PRINCES

Faramir slipped into the darkened nursery, careful not to awaken the nursemaid who was sleeping in a chair on the far side of the room. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, but the nursemaids kept pulling them closed, insisting that drafts were bad for the baby. Arwen had told them it was nonsense and to leave the windows open; the child was half-elven and wouldn’t die from some fresh air.

His footsteps were nearly silent on the stone floor, as cautious as a Ranger’s steps over rustling leaves, but as he approached the cradle he heard the baby stirring and making soft noises. No sound had awakened Livien, but she knew Faramir had come for her. As he approached, she pulled herself up onto her knees to look over the edge of the crib, her dark hair sticking out in odd tufts, her eyes, the same storm-changeable blue-gray as Aragorn’s, watching Faramir. Although his arrival in the daytime almost always drew squeals and excited chattering, she always waited silently when he came for her at night.

She reached out her little arms and he scooped her up, wrapping the long dress over her bare feet and tucking her against his chest. She squirmed until she could sit up and look around as he carried her quietly toward the nursery door and out into the hall. The stars overhead were dimmed by the bright moonlight, but the moon itself was hidden behind stone walls.

The night guards watched Faramir pass by, holding the baby, but none of them moved from their position or questioned him. Faramir thought with some amusement that it was not his authority they deferred to, but the Queen’s, assuming that no one would dare to take the child from her bed in the middle of the night without the Queen’s approval.

“It’s warm tonight,” he murmured, and Livien turned her face to look up at him. “It almost feels like summer. It should be a good year for the farmers, with the early rain and now so much sunshine.”

He knew the little one didn’t care what the farmers were up to, but as long as Faramir was talking, she would stare at him as if hypnotized. Arwen had come and fetched him from his bed on more nights than she would ever admit, asking him to come and talk the squalling baby to sleep. Faramir didn’t mind; Legolas had been gone from his bed for so long that there seemed no reason to care about staying in it himself.

“I’m sure he’s doing something stupid,” Faramir said. “If it wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t be hiding it from me. Elves are impossible. I ought to have nothing to do with them. Well, except you, of course, and you’re only half an elf… although between your father and your mother, I have no doubt you’ll grow up to be a force to be reckoned with…”

He turned a corner and stepped out onto the small balcony, into the bright face of the full, low-hanging moon, its white light enough to cast faint shadows of the stone balustrade. Livien squealed with delight and turned her face into the glow.

“I knew you were unhappy tonight,” Faramir said, looking down at her, warm in his arms. “How do you suppose I knew that? The same way I know all the other times you want me. It’s a dirty trick, you know… I only agreed to let Legolas into my head, and I’m still not convinced that was a good idea.”

Livien looked up at him for a moment, grinned contentedly, and then turned back to staring at the moon.

“There’s more elf in you than mortal, no doubt,” he said. “Although I have to say that I’ve never seen a proper elf with such unruly hair…”

He heard footsteps behind him, but he knew them without turning.

“My Lady.”

“Hello, Faramir. I thought I might find you and my wayward daughter here.”

She stood beside him, and the glow of her face in the moonlight was very like Livien’s.

“I woke and saw the moonlight and thought that Livien might enjoy seeing it… she doesn’t sleep nearly as much as a fully human child would. I went to see if she was awake, but it seems you thought the same thing.”

Faramir shrugged. “I seem to spend more time awake at night than I should, anymore.”

Arwen nodded. “The nursemaids have complained that they wake up in the night and find that you’ve spirited the Princess away. I told them that I was fairly certain you didn’t intend to keep her and would return her eventually… especially when she needs fed, since you lack the proper equipment for that task.”

“She was rather disappointed when she found that out,” Faramir said, smiling to himself as he remembered the red-faced and frustrated infant slapping impatiently at his chest in an attempt to get it to yield up some milk for her.

Livien squealed again and clapped her hands together, beaming in the moonlight. Faramir chuckled.

“Were you like this, as a baby?”

“My father says that on nights when the stars were bright or the moon was full, I would cry until someone took me outside to see them.”

“Then she comes by it naturally, I suppose,” Faramir said. “I wonder…”

He immediately stopped, but it was too late.

“You wonder how many of your habits and traits you might see in your own child.”

“Is it that plain to everyone?” Faramir said, irritated. “No wonder Legolas has been running off and acting stupid. He probably thinks he should do something to…”

He glanced at Arwen.

“That’s not possible, is it?”

She frowned. “Male elves are no more equipped to conceive or carry a child than human males are. I know of no man of any race who has ever done that…”

“You were going to say something else.”

She sighed. “I was going to say that I know of no man of any race who has succeeded in it. I’ve heard old stories about male elves who attempted it, but the kind of old and unpleasant magic that was used…”

“Your father would have records of that old magic in his library. He has records of everything.”

“He would,” Arwen said quietly. “The archives in Lorien would also have such information. Elves long ago stopped using that kind of magic… it dates to the days before our ancestors were summoned to Valinor, before the Sundering, and…”

Livien, feeling Faramir’s distress, looked up at him and frowned, her forehead crinkling in a way that indicated a possible oncoming tantrum. Faramir was quick to speak a few cheerful words and bounce her with his arm, and she settled again, although her eyes remained fixed on his face.

“Is that what was in that bottle? The one I took from Legolas when he was here?”

“I’m not sure, Faramir, but I think it might be. Only my grandmother could probably tell you for sure. If he read enough to find out how to make that sort of magic, he had to have read how dangerous and unpredictable it is…”

“But would it allow…”

“I’ll try to speak with Galadriel,” Arwen said, looking up at the moon. “I told you that I’d heard old stories about elves who attempted what you’re talking about…”

“And?”

“They’re not stories with pleasant endings,” Arwen said. “The spells were intended to be used on females, and even then the results could be…”

Livien whined and tugged at Faramir’s shirt, staring at him with wide, unhappy eyes.

“She knows we’re talking about something that makes you unhappy,” Arwen said.

Faramir lifted the little girl to hold her against his chest. She laid her head on his shoulder, inserted her thumb in her mouth, and sighed softly.

“Why is it that I can hear her, the way I can hear Legolas?”

“Your ability isn’t just limited to the bond you share with Legolas, Faramir. As it grows, it will extend to others you’re bonded to in different ways. Your attachment to Livien is…”

“Love at first sight?” Faramir said ruefully, rubbing Livien’s head. “Don’t tell me it’ll be Boromir next.”

“Probably. Or it will be me, considering how much time we seem to spend together since she was born.”

Faramir lowered his head. “My nights are very lonely. And if Legolas is trying to… he couldn’t be, could he?”

“I hope not.”

“What would happen to him if… if the magic did work?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll try to speak to my grandmother as soon as I can. But if you think that’s really what he might be trying to do, you should go and try to find him, as soon as you can. He’s putting himself in grave danger.”

Faramir sighed. “It would hardly be the first time. I occasionally think he’s determined to see exactly how many times he can get out of things that ought to have killed him.”

Arwen stroked Livien’s head where it rested on Faramir’s shoulder. The little girl yawned.

“I think she’s had enough of the moonlight,” Faramir said. “’l’ll return her to the nursery before anyone panics.”

Arwen nodded, but rested a hand on his arm. “Faramir… you should make arrangements in the morning to leave here and go find him. Aragorn will, of course, allow you to take leave of your duties…”

“I don’t know where to find him.”

“I think your bond will help lead you toward him.”

Livien lifted her head and gave Faramir a concerned look. Faramir was suddenly struck by an awareness of the little girl’s thoughts.

“She knows I’m talking about going away. She can’t know that. She can’t even speak…”

“No, but she is an elf child, Faramir. They understand what they hear, and they’re very perceptive.”

Livien clung to his tunic fiercely and gave him a look that was so much like her mother’s stern glare that Faramir had to laugh.

“You don’t have the power to silence grown men with that look… not yet, anyway,” he said. “I promise I’ll come back.”

She laid her head back down on his shoulder with a sulking, displeased expression.

“She’s annoyed with me.”

“She’s a baby. It doesn’t take much to annoy them. She’ll be fine while you’re gone.”

Faramir nodded. “I’ll leave in the morning. I’ll go north and toward the Anduin… Legolas would have no reason to go south. If I had to guess, he’d be somewhere in one of the great forests, or…”

He looked up at the glowing moon that lit their faces, and his eyes drifted closed. Arwen was silent, and even Livien became very still and alert.

His eyes flew open. “I see jewels.”

“What?”

“Jewels. Overhead, like stars in the sky.”

Arwen smiled. “You speak of the Glittering Caves at Aglarond.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“No. But Legolas has… and he has an old and trusted friend there.”

“It’s a place to start,” Faramir said. He lifted Livien up and studied her; she looked back at him with her large, curious eyes. “Will you forgive me if I go away for a bit?”

“You don’t have to ask her permission,” Arwen said, laughing.

In his head, though, Faramir knew exactly what Livien was thinking. Of course her knight would be expected to ask her leave before departing. One did not dismiss a Princess without proper respect. He tucked her back in his arms as he walked back toward the nursery, wondering if Aragorn or even Arwen knew what they were dealing with; their daughter, though tiny, was every inch of her a future queen to hold her own against any king.

“You’re going to be nothing but trouble,” he said.

She grinned up at him, and although it must have been a change of shadows or a trick of the light, that she winked at him.

 

 

The roads between Minas Tirith and Rohan, which had once been in dangerous disrepair, were now smooth and well-kept, with wagons and caravans traveling in both directions. Metalwork and jewelry from the dwarves of Aglarond were popular among the well-to-do in Gondor and beyond, and the Rohirrim traded not only in horses but in leather goods as well. Minas Tirith boasted not only the products of its own craftsmen and farmers, but also a steadily growing supply of exotic foods and other items from the far south, traded up the Harad Road to the Anduin as the Haradrim discovered that the benefits of trade outweighed the burden of constant skirmishes.

Faramir could not help but take note of the travelers and goods as he rode. The journey from Minas Tirith to Aglarond was a long one, even with good roads, and the White Mountains threw up barriers that made direct routes difficult unless one had an inclination for rock-climbing. He resisted the urge to drive his horse onward relentlessly in an attempt to get there faster. She was a mare of Rohirrim breeding and a sturdy animal born to travel long distances, but trying to run her the entire way would leave him stranded with a lame mount and no closer to Legolas, so he curbed his anxiety and let the mare set her own brisk, steady pace.

Much as he would have liked to be an elf and need no sleep, when the sky became so dark that the road ahead disappeared, he found a reasonably well-hidden spot among trees or rocks and laid down his bedroll. He let the mare wander; she was less likely to be stolen if she wasn’t tied, and horses of Rohan did not leave their riders. The first night he slept soundly, exhausted, but the second night he found his sleep disturbed by dreams, although he could not recall them when he woke. On the third day, as he nearly dozed in the saddle under the increasingly warm sun, he half-dreamed of Livien and although there were no words, he was quite certain that she was checking up on him to make sure he was keeping on with his work and not wasting any time. He dreamed of her that night as he slept, seeing the stars outside the nursery window through her eyes, but he also had vague dreams of what appeared to be Galadriel, whose expression seemed concerned, but who was hazy and unsteady like a reflection in a clouded mirror.

The fourth night, he found himself woken abruptly from a poorly-remembered but disturbing dream having something to do with Aragorn in a state of undress that he had never seen, or wished to see, his King in. He sat up in his bedroll and groaned, and his mare looked up from her grazing and glanced at him curiously.

“Damnit, I don’t mind the baby so much, and if I must have Arwen too… but not my brother. Dear Valar, that’s really not acceptable at all.”

The mare snorted.

“It’s not acceptable,” a voice in the darkness spoke, “but it’s extremely funny.”

Faramir tensed and reached for his sword, knowing arrows would be of no use against an enemy in the darkness.

“At ease, Captain,” the voice said, and a pale figure appeared against the darkness, white beard catching hints of moonlight.

Faramir rubbed his head. If this wasn’t a dream, it was worse than one.

“Gandalf?”

“Well, of course. The Queen summoned… she knew Shadowfax and I were the only ones who could catch up with you.”

“What does the Queen wish of me?” Faramir asked, moving to stand, but Gandalf waved his staff to indicate he should sit back down.

“She sent a message, which she instructed that even I was not to read,” Gandalf said, sounding a bit put out by this caveat. “I would not suffer the indignity of being used as a messenger boy by anyone but the Evenstar, and she would only call on me if she felt it important.”

He handed Faramir a rolled paper sealed with wax.

“I can’t read it in the dark,” Faramir said.

Gandalf sighed and raised his wand, casting a brilliant white light.

“That’s a bit more than necessary,” Faramir said, half-blinded, but the wizard ignored him. He broke the wax and unrolled the paper. Arwen had not bothered with the usual royal headings and notations, but had written in a quick hand:

_Faramir,_

_When you find Legolas, you must take him to Lorien immediately. My grandmother will be waiting for your arrival. Even if he demands to return to Gondor, you must take him to Galadriel. Gandalf will assist if he must; he knows of the old magic, even though the Istari never used it and took the knowledge of it from everywhere except my father’s libraries. My father insisted it was foolish to destroy knowledge, although if he wanted to keep such knowledge, he ought to have kept it away from anyone else, especially a son of Thranduil, of all people… I doubt Legolas took the time to bother with the rituals of protection that were necessary to use that magic without being overwhelmed by it. Galadriel fears that if he was careless with his use of it, even she may not be able to undo it._

_Do not put yourself in danger, Faramir. The Istari would not have taken the old magic from mortals and even from elves if they thought it could be used safely._

“What’s the bloody elf done this time?” Gandalf asked. “Son of Thranduil indeed… mad apples fall from mad trees.”

“I thought you didn’t read it,” Faramir muttered.

“I didn’t. But you’re holding it up and I can read it through the paper,” Gandalf said, nodding to the glaring brightness of his staff. “Now, tell me what the elf has gotten himself into.”

“I’ll tell you as we ride,” Faramir said, stumbling to his feet and collecting his gear in the light of the staff. “My horse should reach Aglarond by…”

“Nonsense. Set her on her way. She’ll make her way either to Gondor or to Rohan. Shadowfax will carry us both, and we’ll be there by dawn.”

Faramir glanced uneasily at the unearthly equine figure that drifted into the circle of light.

“Are you sure?”

“Stop fussing, lad. Shadowfax wouldn’t have offered to carry you if he wasn’t willing. Now, hurry, because if nothing else, I want to know what’s going on.”

 

Once Faramir had adjusted to the horse’s breath-stealing gallop, he attempted to explain to Gandalf something about the strange bottles and the elf’s strange absences and even stranger behavior.

“And you think he might be…”

Faramir sighed. “I fear that when Legolas sets his mind on something…”

Gandalf nodded. “I’ve known the fool since before he could walk, and I know one thing about him with complete certainty: the best way to make Legolas do something is to put it in front of him and then tell him it’s too dangerous and to leave it alone.”

“I’d noticed that,” Faramir said. “So if he thought of it and managed to find something in Elrond’s libraries that told him such magic existed but that it was far too dangerous even when used properly…”

Gandalf nodded. “Like dangling a cake in front of a hobbit, I’m afraid. All the warnings would just have encouraged him. How long has he been meddling with this?”

Faramir told him about the water in the pond making the hobbits ill, and their observation that the contents of the elf’s bottles had smelled the same.

“What in the world would he be…” the wizard said, then paused. “You don’t mean the pond where we met to ask the Valar to recognize your bond with him?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Hmph. Perhaps he did make some half-hearted attempt to try to protect himself… one of the precautions for using that sort of magic would have been a ritual to attempt to engage the protection of the Valar. He may have thought that since the Valar had recognized your bond there, they might recognize his attempt to…”

“They wouldn’t, would they?” Faramir demanded.

“The Valar never approved of any of the peoples of Middle Earth having access to that kind of magic. Those who were skilled in using it knew how to invoke their power to protect them, but I highly doubt they would intervene in something like that… a male trying to use magic to force something against nature…”

“Well, if the Valar didn’t approve, he’d just have told them to fuck off and gone on with it,” Faramir sighed.

“He does understand that even if the spell was used correctly and used on a woman, it would still require the standard… female equipment to actually carry a child … and that the spell doesn’t provide said equipment?”

“I don’t know that he cares. If he read that there was magic that had been used to allow two people to conceive a child even when natural methods had failed…”

“Not one to bother to read the fine print?” Gandalf asked.

“Oh, he reads it,” Faramir said, shaking his head. “It usually just gives him more reasons to do it anyway.”

 

The guards in the towers that overlooked the road to the Glittering Caves must have recognized the White Rider in the distance, even in the early dawn light, because it was Gimli himself who met them at the gates despite the early hour, a bit disheveled, but dressed in a tunic of red fabric woven with gold and with rings of gold braided into his beard.

“Greetings, Lord of the Glittering Caves,” Gandalf said, as Shadowfax halted in front of him.

Gimli muttered something, then looked over Gandalf’s shoulder at Faramir. “I sent word to Minas Tirith for you, but you must have been already on your way.”

Faramir slid off the tall horse, trying not to land awkwardly in front of the small assembled party of dwarves.

“Is he here?”

“Legolas? Aye. He’s here. That’s why I sent a message to you. He’s… I don’t know what’s happened to him.”

He motioned for the other dwarves to depart, and they politely stepped back through the gates as Gimli spoke in a lower tone.

“I think Arod brought him here… that was five days ago, and when the guards came down to find out why the rider wasn’t answering them, they found him… well, they thought he was dead, but guards are guards, and fortunately they had the good sense to call for the healers. He was like that… still and cold and just breathing, for two days, but since then…”

Faramir frowned; the distress on Gimli’s face told him that the dwarf was more troubled by his friend’s condition than he wanted to admit.

“I’ll take you to him, but you should know that we had to find a bed that could hold him and bind him to it.”

“What? Why?”

“He doesn’t know where he is, or who he is, or anything else. When he woke he bruised several of the healers rather badly… it’s a good thing dwarves are sturdy. If they had been men, they might have been much worse harmed. Since then no one has been able to calm him or even speak to him, but we couldn’t let him leave like this… he’s not himself… he’s tried to harm the healers, tried to harm himself…”

Gandalf laid a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, seeing the young man’s rising panic.

“Easy, Faramir,” he murmured. “This is dangerous magic, but I think your bond will reach him through it, at least enough that he’ll know you.”

Faramir nodded, unwilling to attempt to speak. Gimli nodded and motioned for them to follow.

“Come with me. The caves are still dimly lit now, as most of us aren’t awake yet, but I don’t think now is the time for you to properly appreciate the beauty of this place, unfortunately. Besides, we had to find a room for him down one of the halls that’s rarely used… he was shouting strange things, not making any sense, and it was alarming the workers.”

Faramir and the wizard followed the dwarf through the gates and into the vast cavern of the cave entrance, but Gimli quickly led them down a maze of dark halls, narrow and quiet. Their footsteps echoed in the hollow spaces, and Faramir was relieved when Gandalf lit his staff. Gimli might have been able to guide them even in darkness, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling to those not accustomed to being below ground.

“It’s quiet,” Gimli said, relief in his voice. “He’s not talking…”

“What has he been saying?” Faramir asked.

Gimli glanced over his shoulder, face grave. “I don’t speak Sindarin, young Faramir. And for the last three days, I’ve been very glad that I don’t.”

He stopped and retrieved a large ring of keys from his pocket, fiddling with them until he found the one he was looking for. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, motioning for Gandalf and Faramir to enter.

The room was small, with plain walls and gray woolen rugs to cover the stone floor and ward off the chill. This far beneath the earth there were no chimneys drilled up to the surface and no fires burning in hearths, only a small lantern with clean-burning oil that hung on the wall, casting long shadows of the metal bars that formed the frame of the bed.

“When I spoke to the healers, they said that they had a few beds made of metal and not of wood… they said they used them for those who were very ill with something that might be very contagious, because the metal is easier to clean thoroughly. It’s heavy, too… it took several of us to drag it down here.”

There were blankets draped over the bed, but above them Faramir could see two hands, each one bound with a short length of chain to the bed frame. At the foot of the bed, where the blankets had been kicked away, he could see that the feet were similarly bound. The dwarves had clearly tried to keep their captive from unnecessary discomfort; under the chains were thick layers of soft cloth to keep the metal from digging into his skin, but Faramir could see that even with this protection, the elf had still worn his wrists and ankles raw enough to bleed through the fabric.

“Legolas,” Gimli said quietly.

A head of tangled blond hair stirred, and the figure beneath the blankets twisted and writhed as he jerked at the chains.

“Stop it. You’re hurting yourself,” Gimli said, but his tone was weary and it was clear he didn’t expect a response.

Faramir’s immediate instinct was to reach out and grasp the elf’s arm to try to stop him from twisting against the chains, but as soon as Faramir laid a hand on him, Legolas recoiled and muttered something incoherent, turning his face away.

“Legolas… listen. Please. I’ve come a long way to talk to you… you could at least listen.”

Legolas went still, and slowly turned his head toward Faramir, but the man jerked back in alarm. The elf’s usually smooth face was marked by nearly healed but still red lines gouged downward across his forehead and cheeks, and the usually clear blue eyes were a hazy, solid green, blank and unseeing. Gandalf muttered something that Faramir was certain were curse words in some language.

“Gandalf?”

“Those who discovered this magic learned to use it to cast spells,” the wizard said. “The spells were to be cast on a person, or a thing… but the ingredients of the potions and rituals were _not_ intended to be consumed themselves. The potions were to be used in rituals, not to… you said you saw him drink it?”

“Drink what?” Gimli demanded. “What magic are you speaking of? Spell-casting and potions… I thought that sort of magic was for children’s stories.”

“They were true stories, once,” Gandalf said. “That was in very early days, when the Valar left far more power loose in this world than there is today. They should have known that elves and men were creative and strong-willed enough to learn how to make use of it… even at their own risk. I’m sure there were lives lost in the process of learning the proper ingredients for potions, the proper rituals to transform them, to protect them from harming those who handled them. Damned stupid elf… if he read enough to be able to make the stuff, he _had_ to have read enough to know that you would never _drink_ it…”

Faramir shook his head. “What if he’d tried casting it on himself and it hadn’t worked?”

Gandalf sighed. “Knowing this elf, he _would_ have to try something more drastic. Legolas has never been one to tolerate failure. It’s an inherited trait; Thranduil is more obstinate than an entire city full of mules.”

Faramir reached out and ran a finger across the elf’s marked cheek. Legolas frowned, but didn’t pull away.

“What happened to his face?”

“He did that to himself,” Gimli said, his voice rough. “That was when we bound him.”

“Arwen is right,” Gandalf said. “Much as I’d like to say that I can repair this, I suspect that even Galadriel and I together may not be able to.”

Faramir laid the palm of his hand over the elf’s forehead. His skin was cool, and his eyes moved to look toward Faramir, but did not seem to see him.

“Faramir… I’ll ask Shadowfax to carry you and Legolas to Lorien. He needs no time to rest or eat, and he’ll run without rest until you arrive there.”

“Unless Faramir is strong enough to hold an elf that took six dwarves to hold down…” Gimli warned.

Gandalf motioned toward Faramir, and Gimli went silent, waiting.

_Legolas… I know you can hear me._

The response at first was so confused and incoherent that Faramir wasn’t sure the elf was even answering him, but after a moment, he tried again.

_I can hear you… I don’t know… I can’t…_

_What did you do, Legolas? You had to know this would harm you…_

_Immortal._

_Not invincible, bloody elf. Do you know what you’ve done?_

_No… maybe…_

_Do you realize where you are?_

_No. Somewhere… I don’t know._

_You came to the Glittering Caves after you left me. You left before I woke because you knew something terrible was happening and you didn’t want me to see it. They’ve got you tied with chains, Legolas. You tried to hurt them. Your face…_

_That. Yes. I remember… something. It was… I could feel it… under my skin… was trying to get it out. Too deep. Can’t…_

_We’re going to Lorien. Galadriel thinks she may be able to help you. But we’ll never get there unless you can help me. I need you to come back, as much as you can… I need you to be able to listen to me. I’m not strong enough to keep you from hurting me._

The wave of pain and distress from the elf struck Faramir like a blow.

_Never hurt you._

_You will hurt me, if I untie you now._

_No. Just… stay. With me… here… so I don’t forget…_

_I will._

Gandalf tapped his foot impatiently. “Faramir?”

“I think our bond can keep him aware of himself for me to get him to Lorien,” the man said. “I don’t know how long he’ll be able to keep that up, though.”

“Shadowfax is waiting,” Gandalf said.

Sending half-thoughts toward the elf to keep him calm, Faramir released the chains from his ankles, then his wrists, wincing at the raw, bleeding wounds beneath.

“Bring me something to treat these.”

“Faramir…” Gandalf warned.

“These are painful. It’s making it harder for him to stay with me. Bring me something to treat them, at least to cover them and ease the pain.”

Gimli nodded and hurried away. Gandalf rolled his eyes and paced impatiently.

_I’m going to do something for your injuries. It will ease the pain._

_I… please. It hurts._

_I know. It looks like it hurts. Stay with me._

Gimli finally returned with a bowl of something and a handful of bandages.

“Salve. Honey with healing herbs. The healer said it would soothe…”

Faramir worked patiently, ignoring Gandalf’s snorts of annoyance.

“A few extra minutes won’t hurt, Mithrandir. He’s listening now. If we’re going to get as far as Lorien, I need him here with me.”

When the wounds were treated with salve and bandaged, Faramir could feel the elf relax as the grip of pain loosened.

_Better… feels much better. Why can’t I see?_

_Because you’re an idiot and you never listen to a damned thing anyone ever tells you._

_Oh. Well… suppose that sounds about right._

Faramir smiled slightly. “We’re ready, Gandalf.”

For all his wiry strength, the elf was light compared to a man of similar stature, and he seemed lighter now than he had when Faramir had seen him less than a fortnight ago. He wrapped a few blankets around the slender frame, knowing they wouldn’t hold Legolas if he tried to get loose, but hoping they might at least keep his hands from straying of their own accord. He lifted him, shifted to adjust his balance, and nodded to Gimli.

“Lead on.”

Gimli rushed through the halls, only to have to slow and wait for Faramir, who had to navigate the narrow halls while carrying a burden that was neither light nor wieldy. Finally, though, they emerged into the great hall, and then out through the gates and into the morning sunlight. Shadowfax was waiting just outside, shifting his feet, his dark eyes alert and watchful. Gandalf stroked his neck and whispered something to the horse, who gave him a look of some concern.

“What did you tell him?” Faramir demanded.

“That if Legolas turns on you before you reach Lorien, he is to do whatever he must do to protect you from him. And he will.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Faramir said, deeply hoping that he was correct, but not as certain as he sounded. “Help me get both of us up, and we’ll be gone.”

As Shadowfax leaped forward into his relentlessly soaring gallop, rapidly leaving Aglarond behind, Faramir shook Legolas slightly.

_Are you with me?_

_I’m here._

_Good. Stay. If you don’t…_

_Trying._

_Why did you have to do such a stupid, dangerous thing?_

He knew the elf would be rolling his eyes if he were speaking to him face to face.

_Really? I think… that discussion can wait a bit._

_Bloody impossible elf. My brother warned me about you._

_I warned you about me too. You didn’t listen._

Faramir looked up and ahead. The horse’s path would carry them along the edge of Fangorn and then to Lorien. He hoped that Shadowfax was swift enough; it was a long ride, and even if the horse didn’t tire, Faramir knew he would. Every moment of trying to pull Legolas through the haze and back into contact with him was exhausting, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up. He could only hope it was long enough.  

 

 

Shadowfax carried them across the western plains of Rohan with no direction from his riders. The herds of Rohirrim horses that grazed on these plains raised their heads at his approach, and some of them neighed and broke into a gallop behind him, but he swiftly left them behind. Faramir kept one hand in the horse’s mane to help him keep his seat, and the other was occupied with keeping Legolas securely against his chest. Faramir kept prodding him with questions as they rode; sometimes he received a coherent answer and other times only a vague acknowledgement, but at least the elf wasn’t fighting him. Faramir didn’t want to think what a fall from a horse at this speed would feel like.

With the clear sky over the plains, Faramir watched the sun climb steadily in the east, drift to its peak, and then settle slowly toward the horizon. As the light faded, he thought he could see a dark line of shadow that might have been the border of Fangorn forest in the distance, but soon it was too dark to see anything. Shadowfax raced on at full speed, undeterred by the darkness even though Faramir could feel the terrain becoming rougher as the left the plains of Rohan behind. Even for a Ranger it was harder to tell the time at night, especially moving at such a speed that he could not get a  proper sense of where the familiar landmarks were among the bright stars overhead.

Accustomed as Faramir was to going without sleep when he had to, he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep undisturbed by dreams, whether his own or others, since a few days after he left Minas Tirith, and almost no sleep the two nights before. If he had been on duty and expecting an attack he might have been able to stay at least somewhat awake, but with nothing but the horse’s pounding hooves and the wheeling stars, he found himself starting to doze. He jerked himself awake again and again, reaching to see if Legolas was still with him, and while he received very little response, the elf was calm and unresisting against him. Faramir wished he would rouse enough at least to argue with him; that, at least, would keep him awake.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep. He only knew that the horse was weaving and then skidding to a halt as both his riders slipped sideways. Faramir grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane, barely enough to slow the fall, but at least making sure he landed on his back with Legolas safely against him.

“Damnit…” he muttered, furious with himself as he sat up. “Well, that’s woken me up...”

He stopped, realizing that the fall had woken Legolas as well. The elf had turned his head toward Faramir’s voice, in the darkness Faramir could see that his eyes were open, but nothing of their color or what he might read in them.

“Legolas?”

The elf stirred. “What…”

“Are you all right?”

Legolas didn’t answer him, but he didn’t appear to be injured. Faramir quickly ran his hands over his arms, legs, and chest, waiting to see a wince of pain, but the elf seemed unharmed. As Faramir finished his examination and sat back, he was surprised to feel a hand grasping at the sleeve of his tunic.

“Legolas?”

No response. He reached out through the bond between them, but the elf did not respond to this either.

_Legolas… are you listening? Can you hear me?_

The man had been crouched on his heels, and when the elf’s arm caught him across the chest, he stumbled and fell back. Legolas twisted and swung blindly at him again, kicking his heels into the ground in an attempt to back away.

“Legolas!”

He tried to catch the elf’s arms, but received a sideways blow to his face for his efforts. He realized Shadowfax was suddenly behind him, and remembered Gandalf’s instructions to the horse. He tried again, this time lunging for both arms at once. He managed to grasp both of them and slammed them to the ground at the elf’s sides, swinging a leg over to pin him as much as he could as Legolas kicked and jerked against his grip, oblivious to the man’s words as he attempted to calm him.

Faramir tried to think, but no brilliant plan came to mind. Instead, impulsively and knowing it was likely to get him punched in the head, he leaned in and pressed his lips hard against the elf’s.

Legolas went rigid and still for a moment. Then, slowly, the fighting tension began to ease out of his body, and Faramir was surprised to find him lifting his head, his mouth warm, returning the kiss. Not wanting to lose this moment of contact, he kept it until he had to draw back to gasp for breath.

“Can… let go of my arms.”

Surprised, Faramir released the elf’s arms. Almost immediately, they were hooked across his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Faramir…”

“You frightened me. I thought…”

“I’m here. What… what happened? Why are we on the ground? I thought we were riding…”

“I fell,” Faramir admitted.

“Clumsy mortal,” Legolas murmured.

“Are you all right?”

“I feel… everything feels strange…”

Faramir became suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the familiar body between his legs. “I need to get up…”

“Please… don’t…”

Legolas kissed him, and Faramir found himself slipping into the kiss, feeling the familiar hands tangling in his hair. He was vaguely aware of an intoxicated, dizzy feeling that seemed to slide over him, but the elf’s body under his seemed to demand his entire attention. For a moment he tried to tell himself to stop, to get up, but this was Legolas, and there was never a time when he could completely ignore his desire, especially not while their lips and bodies were pressed together, and especially not with the odd dazed feeling that seemed to be driving more rational thoughts from his mind.

“Faramir…” Legolas murmured.

“I can’t. You’re…”

Legolas shifted under him. “Please… I’m here… with you. I don’t want to go back… where I was. Please. Keep me here with you.”

Faramir realized that his hands, without instruction from his brain, were stroking along the elf’s sides, feeling his ribs through the thin tunic the dwarves had dressed him in. In the scuffle, it had been pulled up, and both of them jumped as Faramir’s fingers found naked skin. After a moment, though, the man jerked back and tugged at the tunic until he got it over the elf’s head.

“Legolas… what is all this?” he demanded, horrified. The elf’s chest and sides were covered with healing but deep and reddened gouges into the skin, dozens of them in long rows across his body.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you do this to yourself?”

Legolas frowned. “I… I think so? I remember… there was something… under my skin. I tried to get it out…”

Faramir lowered his head, stunned by the grimness on Gimli’s face when he had spoken of Legolas, and an image of the dwarves struggling to restrain him as he tore at his own skin. His forehead came to rest on the lined and marred chest.

“They’ll heal,” Legolas said.

Faramir nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and raised his head to kiss between the red lines.

“Why would you do this to yourself? Any of this?”

The elf’s hands slid down his back, pulling him closer. “I don’t know… it’s all…”

He gasped as Faramir’s mouth moved lower, over the uninjured skin of his abdomen, his fingers finding the waistband of the light breeches. They were dwarf-made and too large around the waist for a slender elf, and yielded far too easily to two pairs of hands tugging and pushing at them until Legolas could kick them off. Faramir’s hands ran over the smooth hips, feeling Legolas jerk up into his touch, awake and alive and aware of everything. He felt the elf’s warm, half-hard shaft against his skin as his hands moved lower, over lean thighs. Legolas was breathing hard, his hands clutching at Faramir’s hair.

“Faramir… please… I want you…”

Faramir looked up. “You want…”

“I want you. Please. I want you to take me…”

“I can’t do that. You’re still not…”

“I’m naked and you’re on top of me and I can feel how hard you are. Please. I need to feel…”

Faramir knew there was a reason not to do this, but somehow the fuzzy feeling in his head kept him from thinking of what that reason was, and kept driving him back to the elf’s naked body. He rolled back, grabbed for his travel pack that he’d lost in his fall off the horse, and fumbled in one of the pockets. The salve was in all Rangers’ packs; it covered minor wounds and kept them clean, soothed burns, but it had been used for other purposes many times before, and it was suitable for the purpose in an emergency. The smell of it struck him, reminded him of other nights he and Legolas had spent away from the city, under the stars. The urgent need was as familiar as the smell, the way the elf’s hands grasped at him as he spread the salve over both of them, the way his back arched willingly as Faramir pressed into him, slid his hands behind the elf’s back to hold him as long legs hooked behind his thighs and pulled him deeper.

The rhythm of their bodies together was so easy, so familiar, that Faramir became lost in it, losing track of time and place. He pressed his face into the elf’s throat, feeling Legolas tip his head back to expose the skin to Faramir’s mouth. It seemed too soon to Faramir that the pleasure began to drag him toward release, but he knew there would be no holding it back. He raised himself enough to slip a hand between the two of them, grasping the elf’s cock and feeling it jump in his hand as he began to squeeze and stroke it. Legolas gasped out something in broken Sindarin that Faramir didn’t understand and grasped and the man’s shoulders.

After a few minutes, though, Faramir realized that although Legolas was thrusting up into his hand, he wasn’t falling easily into the climax that Faramir could normally bring him to. He wanted to speak but found that he was too lost to put together coherent words, so he reached out in a way that didn’t require it.

_Legolas? Are you…_

The response was somewhere between intense pleasure and equally intense frustration.

_My body isn’t… behaving properly…_

Faramir, not sure how long he could hold himself back, pulled the elf against him and reached out to him again.

_Can you feel…_

_I can feel what you’re feeling._

_Focus on that…_

The elf’s response to Faramir’s efforts quickly improved, and he gasped, digging his fingers into the man’s skin. At the same time, Faramir realized that not only was he feeling his own release rapidly gathering low in his body, but also what Legolas was feeling, the firm pressure of his hand and the building climax. The sensation was entirely overwhelming, and it took only a moment to pull Faramir over the edge, and Legolas with him, both of them spiraling into each other’s release along with their own.

For some time Faramir had almost no sense of anything besides the elf’s body still wrapped around his own. Awareness returned suddenly and like a bucket of cold water, and he sat up abruptly, staring at Legolas.

“This… no. We should be riding toward Lorien. How…”

He rubbed his forehead, and then looked back at Legolas. To his alarm, the elf seemed to be slipping back into unconsciousness, his head fallen back against the ground. Faramir grabbed him by the arms and shook him, but received only a mumbled response.

He swore in frustration at his own foolishness. Why would he let himself be drawn into wasting precious time, risking whatever fragile state the elf might be in? He should have better sense than that. He _did_ have better sense than that. Arwen had warned him…

He froze. Arwen had warned him not to put himself in danger. He’d assumed that she was warning him against letting Legolas harm him. It hadn’t occurred to him that this unpredictable and dangerous magic itself might affect him.

“What the hell did I think was going to happen?” he said aloud, his voice loud in the quiet darkness. “What did I expect it to do?”

Of course the magic would take an opportunity to pull him in, to cloud his thoughts, to take away any thoughts and replace them with desire. What else would it do? It was a bloody _fertility spell._

Furious with himself for succumbing to something he should have been easily able to resist, Faramir quickly dressed Legolas back in the clothes he’d been wearing. The elf made some half-hearted attempts to assist, but showed little awareness of what was happening. For a moment Faramir had no idea how he was going to get both of them back on the horse, but when he turned around, Shadowfax was waiting, having positioned himself alongside a large rock.

“Thank you,” Faramir said.

The horse gave him a somewhat impatient look, as if telling him to get on with it. Using the rock, Faramir managed to get both of them on the horse again. Almost as soon as he was seated, Shadowfax stomped his hooves in warning, then leaped into a gallop and raced forward into the night.

 

The fear and awareness of how easily he had been diverted from his path was more than enough to keep Faramir wide awake until dawn. In the faint light, he realized with some astonishment that Fangorn, previously a dark line on the horizon, was now a rapidly fading line behind them. While he got little or no response from Legolas no matter how hard he tried to rouse him, at least the elf was calm and unresisting, and Faramir wanted nothing at this point but to reach Lothlorien and hand Legolas, and whatever strange and dangerous magic he was carrying with him, into hands more trustworthy and capable than his own.

 

The luminous beauty of the Golden Wood unfolding as they approached was a sight Faramir would ordinarily have stopped to marvel at, but Shadowfax wasn’t slowing down even if his rider had wanted to. As they approached, six wood elves on horses appeared from among the trees, and Faramir expected to be stopped and questioned. However, it seemed that the riders were expecting them, and instead of halting them, they silently turned their horses to escort the graceful white horse and his two riders among the trees. Shadowfax slowed to a walk, following a path he seemed to know well, and after a seemingly endless ride among the tall mallorn trees, they emerged abruptly into an open clearing paved with flat white stones and a tall stone arch between the trees, grown over with golden flowers. Under this arch was an elf lady in white, her long blond hair falling down her back and a jeweled circlet across her forehead. Faramir had never met the Lady Galadriel in person, but this could be no one else.

Two elves came up beside Shadowfax, and Faramir eased Legolas into their arms before sliding to the ground. His legs, stiff and unsteady from so many hours of riding, nearly collapsed under him, but Galadriel stepped forward, took his arm, and guided him to sit down on the white stone bench at the edge of the clearing. Only once he was seated and not in danger of falling on his face did he dare to look up into the face of the Lady.

“Welcome, Faramir. I had hoped I would meet you eventually,” she said, her smile gentle and serene. “My granddaughter speaks well of you.”

“For the Queen to speak well of me is a great honor, my Lady.”

“It seems, from what I have heard, that my great-granddaughter has taken quite a liking to you as well.”

Faramir felt his cheeks flush. “Livien… I’m not certain even Arwen realizes what a strong will the child has.”

“Not yet. But she will,” Galadriel said.

Faramir looked across the clearing, but the elves who had taken Legolas from him had disappeared. Galadriel saw his expression and touched his shoulder.

“He’ll be well cared for.”

“I should stay with him…”

Galadriel gave him an even, serious look, and Faramir realized with a rush of shame that she knew what had waylaid them on their journey.

“He isn’t himself now, Faramir. He has… allowed forces into his body that should not be there, and this is no fault of yours…”

“I should have known he was…”

Galadriel smiled and shook her head. “Our Prince of Mirkwood keeps his secrets well, when he wishes to. If he made reckless decisions, they were his own. And if you don’t believe me…”

She straightened and gestured over Faramir’s shoulder. He turned to see two dark-haired elves, both in blue tunics, as perfectly alike as images in a mirror, and both with an uncanny resemblance to Arwen.

“Greetings, Faramir,” one of them said. “You’ve certainly made good speed getting here… Galadriel only summoned us a few days ago.”

Faramir frowned. “Summoned…”

“Introduce yourselves,” Galadriel said sharply, giving them a stern look. “Has your father taught you no manners at all?”

Both of the twins laughed. “Elladan.”

“And Elrohir.”

“Our grandmother summoned us to come here as quickly as possible… and she made us bring a big, heavy sack of Father’s dusty old books along with us,” Elladan said.

“You poor, mistreated creatures,” Galadriel said, rolling her eyes and turning back to Faramir. “I have no doubt that Legolas has spoken of these two… and I’m sure most of what he said wasn’t very flattering, but they’ve been friends for a long, long time. I’ve asked them to stay and keep you company while you’re here, and perhaps they can reassure you that their old friend’s history of questionable decision-making goes back much farther than his meeting you.”

Faramir chuckled wearily. “Are you suggesting that associating with me was a questionable decision?”

“On the contrary,” she said. “It’s one of the few intelligent ones I’ve known him to make.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Faramir asked.

She glanced at the twins, who frowned.

“Is Legolas in danger? You said…”

“Hush,” Galadriel said. “Faramir can explain what he knows. I will not waste my time chatting with you two… Gandalf should be here very soon, and he and I will be very busy.”

“Is this what those books were about?” Elrohir asked. “I looked them over… they were about all sorts of old conjuring spells and magic and rituals and such.”

“You weren’t asked to read them. You were only asked to bring them. Now, off with you, and take Faramir to his room. There will be some food there, but I suspect you’ll want to sleep first.”

“I don’t know if I have a choice,” Faramir said, wishing his voice was steadier. “I might fall asleep with food in my mouth. What are you going to do to Legolas?”

“I’m not entirely certain, until Galdalf arrives and we can look at what sort of spells he may have been working with. But…”

She glanced at the twins before continuing.

“You may… feel some of what’s happening to him. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. My grandsons have been instructed to keep you occupied… and _not that kind of occupied_ …”

The twins grinned sheepishly.

 “Of course not. Legolas is our friend. We would never play with his mortal.”

“As much as you can, Faramir, you must try to avoid connecting with him,” Galadriel said. “Gandalf and I want you to stay here in Lothlorien, in case… but I don’t want anything we do to him to affect you.”

Faramir caught the hesitation in her voice. “In case of what?”

“We shall hope there isn’t an ‘in case’,” she said.

“You mean in case you can’t help him. Then what happens?”

“We’ll discuss that if we have to,” Galadriel said solemnly. “But I don’t want to think about it any more than you do. Go with Elladan and Elrohir, and you can sleep for a while. I’ll send for you as soon as I know anything.”

Faramir sighed and rose, realizing how entirely exhausted he suddenly felt. “Sleep would be good. Perhaps without being troubled by dreams…”

Galadriel, who had turned, stopped and looked back at him. “Your dreams, or others?”

“It’s the others’ dreams that disturb me more,” he said, thinking particularly of his brother.

Galadriel nodded. “Elladan, go to Celeborn and ask him to place a ward over Faramir’s room to allow him to sleep in peace.”

“Why can’t Elrohir?”

“Are you still three years old? Go and do as I told you! I _will_ have a talk with your father about your appalling lack of manners! It’s a good thing Arwen came to live with me, or she’d never have learned how to behave properly!”

Elladan hurried off. Elrohir chuckled.

“Follow me, Faramir. If my grandparents promise you a sleep free of dreams, I’m sure you’ll have it. And you look like you could use about three or four nights of it.”

“I’d settle for just one,” Faramir sighed. “Lead on… anywhere there’s a bed will be fine with me at the moment.”

 

Faramir took little note of anything in his room but the large, comfortable bed behind a curtain in the far corner. There was a table with food on it, and large windows that were open to let the clear air of the forest flow in, but he had little interest in anything but sleeping. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his first visit to Lothlorien would go, but it didn’t matter at the moment. On the way to showing him to his room, the twins had attempted to convince him that he might like to have a drink with them or have a tour of their favorite parts of the forest, but they had quickly realized the mortal would provide absolutely no entertainment until he’d had some sleep.

His sleep was deep and blissfully dreamless, as Galadriel had promised, and he woke with the early morning light slanting across the wooden floor and a breeze drifting through the windows. He had fallen asleep still wearing most of his clothes, only stripping off the dirtiest outer layers, and when he rose and pushed the curtain aside, he discovered that someone had left a neatly folded stack of clean clothes on a low shelf, and that the table had been set with bread and butter and apples and a pitcher of some sort of cool fruit tea. His stomach growling took precedence over a change of clothes, and he sat down at the small table to eat.

The twins would certainly swear that they had not been lurking around waiting for the man to wake, but they did appear at his door almost the minute he had finished eating.  

“Good morning, Captain Faramir!” one of them said cheerfully, as they both stepped in and leaned against the wall together, watching him.

“Good morning, and I should thank whoever provided…”

The other twin waved his hand. “Everything is always provided here. Our grandparents pride themselves on their hospitality…”

“And they certainly wouldn’t want word getting back to Gondor that they hadn’t treated the young Captain well,” the other concluded.

Faramir was watching them as they spoke, attempting to determine which twin was which, but both of them were identically dressed in blue tunics and gray breeches, and wore identical braids in their dark hair, offering no easy hints.

“Trying to figure out who’s who? I’ll give you a hint… that’s Elladan.”

Elladan grinned. “Not that you’ll be able to tell. We can still even fool father on rare occasions if we work at it… the only two who can always tell us apart are our sister and our grandmother.”

“Mother could too,” Elrohir added. “She used to scold us for playing tricks on our tutors.”

“And on everyone else, from what I’ve heard,” Faramir said.

Both twins laughed. “Has Legolas been telling stories about us again?”

“Possibly.”

They glanced at each other. “Most of them are probably true. Not that he’d know from personal experience…”

Faramir frowned. “What do you mean?”

Elladan shoved his brother and gave him a sharp look. “He means that Legolas is perhaps the only elf we’ve put a concerted effort into… persuading… and failed entirely. But that’s not what we came to see you about.”

“Oh?”

“We thought that you might like to have a proper bath before you’re forced to deal with any tedious greetings from various officials,” Elrohir said.

Elladan muffled a cough that sounded a bit like “Haldir!”

“As I said, various officials,” Elrohir repeated, trying not to laugh.

Faramir knew he was thoroughly dirty from days of traveling. “All right. Where are the baths?”

“Allow us to escort you.”

 

 

Faramir found it a bit disconcerting to have a handsome dark-haired elf on each arm, especially since he still couldn’t tell them apart, but the other elves they passed seemed to take little notice of it.

“Are all elves here in the habit of going around arm in arm?” Faramir asked.

“No,” one of the twins said, “but they all know we’re terribly improper.”

“We have an appalling reputation,” the other said.

“Which is only partly deserved,” the first one argued. “Regardless, they just assume that anything we’re doing is because we’re ‘those Rivendell elves’ and they just ignore it.”

“And don’t worry. Anything you do will end up getting blamed on us.”

Faramir shrugged and allowed himself to be led down a well-used path between the smooth, silver-barked mallorn trees that rose like tall pillars toward the sky, filtering the morning light into a haze of green and gold. The path began to slope downhill and around several large rocks and boulders, and finally arrived at a shaded, clear pool of water surrounded by rocks that had been shaped to serve as shelves and seats.

Faramir paused for a moment when he realized the pool already had several bathers in it, all of them fair-haired like most of Lothlorien’s residents, and all of them conspicuously naked and not apparently concerned about it, sprawling contentedly on the sun-warmed stones or chatting as they lounged in the water.

“Don’t look so shocked, Faramir,” one of the twins (he was fairly sure it was Elrohir) said.

“I’m quite certain, considering the circumstances, that those aren’t the first naked elves you’ve ever seen,” Elladan observed.

Elrohir gave his brother a sly grin. “And unless our Mirkwood friend’s bathing habits have changed considerably, you shouldn’t be surprised to find that elves have little issue with nakedness.”

“I thought that might just be Legolas,” Faramir murmured.

The twins laughed.

“No... Legolas has never been an exhibitionist that we know of…”

“Although he has been known to be a terrible tease…”

“I’ve heard the same about you two,” Faramir said, feeling a bit defensive of his elf.

Elladan laughed unabashedly. “That may be true, but it’s only teasing if you’re offering something you don’t intend to give… and we don’t generally offer what we’re not willing to share. Now, take off those dirty clothes. The water’s nice and warm.”

“And we promise to behave properly,” Elrohir said.

“We do _not_ ,” Elladan argued.

“Well, it depends on how you define ‘properly’, I suppose,” Elrohir conceded.

As they spoke, both of them were quickly stripping off their clothes, and in a very short time they were naked and looking expectantly at Faramir.

“You know, perhaps the reason elves are so content to be naked is because they all have flawless bodies,” Faramir muttered.

“Don’t be silly,” Elladan said. “We’ve all seen enough flawless bodies. Most elves find the imperfections of mortals extremely… interesting, even if most of them won’t admit it.”

“Legolas has never been shy about it,” Elrohir said.

Faramir frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

The twins exchanged another sly glance.

“You take off your clothes and get in the bath, and we’ll tell you anything you want to know about Legolas.”

Faramir scowled, thinking that he refused to succumb to being bribed in exchange for gossip, but then he realized that he did need a bath, that most of the bathing pools in Lorien were likely to be similarly occupied, and that he was irresistibly curious what the twins might have to tell him.

As the twins had assured him, the elves in the pool only glanced up at him with minor curiosity as he stepped into the water, then went back to their conversations.

“Are men common here?” Faramir asked. “I thought the residents of the Golden Wood preferred to keep to themselves.”

“They do,” Elladan said. “But the world hasn’t left them alone. Since Sauron’s fall, it’s become fairly common for men to come here to trade or just to see the great forest of Lorien…”

“And Galadriel lets them in?”

“Not at first,” Elrohir said, glancing at his brother as they slipped into the water, one on either side of Faramir. “But she has become… tired of fighting to keep this land in isolation. I’ve been told you’re a scholar… you know about the Three Rings.”

Faramir nodded, sinking into the warm water and finding a comfortable spot to sit on a rock ledge with the water up to his neck. “I know they were created to heal and protect, and that they were kept pure when the other rings were tainted by the power of the One…”

“You know on whose fingers they reside?”

“I know Gandalf wears Narya, the Ring of Fire… and I know your father is in possession of Vilya, the Sapphire Ring, and I know that Galadriel wears Nenya, the White Ring, although the hobbits have told me it’s invisible on her hand.”

“It is unless she wants to show it off,” Elladan said, grinning. “It’s a very pretty ring.”

“I was trying to explain something,” Elrohir protested.

“Oh. Carry on.”

“I was _trying_ to tell our friend that while the Three Rings were untainted by Sauron’s evil, they were still linked to the One Ring, and the elves knew that the One Ring’s destruction would lead to the three elven rings fading in power, and with them the elven realms.”

Faramir nodded. Aragorn had spoken of the elves’ knowledge that the destruction of the One Ring would mark the beginning of the end for the time of elves in Middle Earth. Still, Lothlorien seemed as beautiful as he’d been told it was, and from reports it seemed that Mirkwood and Celeborn’s colony of East Lorien in the north were thriving, as well as the smaller but equally successful colony in Ithilien. He’d assumed that perhaps since elves were immortal, their sense of time was far different than that of mortals, and that any fall of the great elven realms was far in the future.

“Lothlorien has long been the strongest and most well-protected of the elven realms,” Elrohir said. “But our grandmother’s power wanes with the power of Narya, and she knows their days of isolated peace are coming to an end. She seems to be resigned to the inevitable.”

“Much to Haldir’s annoyance,” Elladan said, chuckling. “Her Marchwarden loathes mortals and nothing irks him more than being forced to let them in.”

A few of the Lorien elves gave the twins a somewhat irritated look at this remark, but since Faramir hadn’t said it, none of them appeared to be glaring at him.

“You said you were going to tell me about Legolas,” he said.

“Yes, we did,” Elladan agreed, as he slid out of the water, sleek and wet, and retrieved a bar of soap and a pitcher from a ledge among the rocks. He settled down cross-legged behind Faramir, rather too close for the man’s comfort, but before he could protest, a pitcher of water was being poured over his head.

“You could warn him first,” Elrohir said mildly.

“Sorry,” Elladan said, sounding not very sorry at all. He took the bar of soap and began to rub in into the man’s hair, quickly working up a lather. Faramir inhaled the clean, soothing herbal fragrance, and something seemed to prod at the back of his mind.

“What is that?”

“The soap? It’s made with lavender and lemongrass oils. Why? Are you thinking your elf would like you smelling like this?”

“No,” he said, closing his eyes as Elladan scooped up another pitcher of water. “It’s just… Livien would like it.”

“Our sister’s tempermental princess,” Elrohir said. “We’d heard that she had an unusual fondness for you.”

“I don’t know if it’s fondness or if she just considers me a personal servant,” Faramir sighed.

“Arwen was a terrible child,” Elladan said. “She’ll never tell you that, but she was father’s precious girl, and she was horribly spoiled. She was the most demanding, headstrong, willful creature... father used to curse her with the threat that she would have a child exactly like herself.”

“His curse may have come to pass,” Faramir said.

“How do you know she’d like this soap? She’s not even half a year old, is she?”

“You remember what Gandalf told us,” Elrohir said. “He has unusual talents, for a mortal.”

“Is that what you meant by being troubled by others’ dreams? You see others’ thoughts?” Elladan asked.

“Only those I know well and spend a great deal of time with,” Faramir said. “Livien has taken a liking to me, and she seems to be determined to communicate her demands.”

“Well, we’ll make sure you can take a package of this soap home with you. It’s Arwen’s favorite, by the way; she’ll love you for it. Now, what did you want to know about Legolas?”

Elladan, having finished rinsing the soap out of Faramir’s hair, was now absently combing the coppery curls with his fingers as he spoke. “You asked what we meant about Legolas and mortals.”

“Yes, I did,” Faramir said, trying to ignore how soothing it felt to have his hair combed, and the lazy contentment that the warm water had soaked into his body.

“It’s not anything that horrible, really. Just that Legolas has always preferred the company of mortals to other elves. When he was young he would run away from Mirkwood for years and years at a time and go find a town to live in, keep his ears covered up with a hat, and try to blend in as well as he could. It infuriated Thranduil…”

“Which is probably half of why he did it,” Elrohir said. “Antagonizing his father is his second favorite pastime.”

“Oh?” Faramir asked. “And what’s his favorite pastime?”

The twins exchanged another one of those looks.

“That’s what Galadriel wanted us to tell you about,” Elladan said. “His favorite pastime, as far as any of us can tell, is doing extremely stupid and dangerous things just to see what will happen.”

Faramir frowned. “Such as?”

“Oh, such as going out to fight giant spiders in Mirkwood with only his bow and arrows… knowing perfectly well that arrows won’t penetrate that shell, and that he would end up having to kill the beast with an arrow to one of its soft spots, which of course required getting much closer to it than is considered wise…”

“I don’t know how many times he was bitten,” Elrohir added. “I know the healers in Mirkwood used to joke that they used him to test out their cures on, because he was the only elf who ever ended up in their care on such a regular basis.”

“He’s picked fights with whole parties of orcs, just because,” Elladan said. “Once we just happened to be riding to meet him and found him almost dead… they’d put several arrows in him and were preparing to finish him off. There were enough of them that it took both of us just to fight them off and get him away. Our father healed him that time…”

“And plenty of other times…”

“Half the time we didn’t even know what had happened to him. He’d just come dragging himself into Rivendell with some horrible wound or such thing, and refuse to tell any of us what he’d gotten himself into.”

“And you’ll notice that out of the entire population of Rivendell, many of whom were at the Council of the Ring, it was only a Mirkwood elf that happily volunteered to go along with the Fellowship.”

Faramir sat quietly for a moment, thinking. The twins watched him, but said nothing.

“Why?” he asked finally.

“Why does he insist upon doing such stupid, dangerous things?” Elladan asked. “I don’t think any of us know. He’s been that way since we met him, and we were all three of us young elves then.”

“Is it… it can’t be just for the excitement,” Faramir said. “That’s not like him.”

“No…” Elrohir agreed. “It’s not for fun.”

“Then why…”

Elladan shrugged. “It occasionally seems as though certain immortal beings are absolutely determined to test how immortal they actually are.”

“That’s not a reason!” Faramir protested.

“It’s the best you’re going to get from us,” Elrohir said.

“You don’t mean that you think he wants to die?”

“No…” Elladan said. “Elves are quite capable of just allowing themselves to fade away if they want to die. And he never tried to stop the healers from treating him, whenever he did survive one of his adventures.”

“So... if he doesn’t want to die, why…”

“I think he’s always been curious exactly what it would take to kill him,” Elrohir said.

“That’s a hell of thing to be curious about!” Faramir said sharply, drawing raised eyebrows from the other bathers.

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s seemed quite a bit less inclined to try to get himself killed since he met you,” Elladan noted.

“That’s true,” Elrohir said. “Although no one’s explained to us exactly what he’s been up to this time… all I know is those books Galadriel asked for are probably older than our father, and they’re all full of nonsense about potions and spells and such…”

“I’m afraid it’s too dangerous to write off as nonsense,” Faramir said.

“Is that what he’s been up to? Playing with dusty old spells from the days when mortals expected the Valar to personally answer their petitions? What in the world for? Just to see what would happen?”

“Not exactly,” Faramir said, trying to think of exactly how to explain the situation. “He seems to have had a particular goal in mind… although certainly a dangerous one.”

“Hmm,” Elladan murmured. “Has our prince thought of a new and interesting way to endanger his life?”

“You could say that,” Faramir said, and launched into what he was aware had to seem like an increasingly bizarre tale. By the end, however, both of the twins were listening intently and didn’t seem to question his explanation.

“So it obviously did something very unpleasant to him,” Elrohir said.

Elladan nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, but do you suppose it worked?”

Faramir froze. “What do you mean, do I suppose it _worked_?”

“I mean, he may not have fully understood… or cared… what this stuff was going to do to him, but do you suppose it did what it was supposed to do?”

“Of course not,” Faramir said uneasily. “There’s no magic or spell that would turn a male elf into a female one.”

“That’s not what it was supposed to do,” Elrohir said. “I looked… it wasn’t hard to figure out what he’d been reading, since they were the only pages that weren’t stuck together and dusty...”

“The spell was supposed to cause a child to be conceived,” Elladan said. “The fact that a certain incautious elf decided to use it on a body that doesn’t have any of the appropriate equipment to handle things from that point is the problem of said elf, not the spell.”

Faramir found himself cold despite the warm water. “But what would that do to a male?”

“Nothing good, I imagine,” Elrohir said. “Father did make us study healing of various sorts, but we didn’t learn about anything like that.”

“Don’t you remember the woman that they brought in when we were young?” Elladan asked.

His brother frowned. “The nobleman’s daughter? I remember her.”

“What about her?” Faramir demanded.

“I’ve never heard of it to happen in elves, but we’re not as physically imperfect as mortals are. Apparently if a child is conceived, but doesn’t make its way to where it’s supposed to be, it can attach itself to wherever it finds itself and start to grow…”

“What happened to the woman?”

“Father couldn’t do anything for her. She was bleeding to death. They didn’t even get her to the healers’ rooms before she was gone. Apparently it’s extremely dangerous for a child to start growing outside its proper location…”

“And in a male body, there is no proper location,” Elrohir said.

“You don’t think that spell could possibly have worked, do you?” Faramir asked.

The look that passed between the twins was solemn.

“I suppose you’ll find out,” Elrohir said. “I hope it didn’t.”

“Maybe Gandalf and Galadriel will know,” Elladan said.

Faramir stood up abruptly. “Give me my clothes. I’m going to find them.”

“Right now? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care. I want to know what they’re doing and what’s going on.”

Elladan grabbed Faramir’s clothes from him. “First of all, these are filthy and there are clean ones in your room. Second of all… there are consequences for not obeying Galadriel… we’re her own kin, and we don’t dare to defy her if she’s laid down a line. If you try to interrupt whatever they’re doing, she may send you away and not let you come back, and then you won’t be able to find out anything.”

Faramir scowled and grabbed his breeches back from the elf. “Well, at least let me put these on so I’m not walking back to my room naked.”

“If you haven’t heard anything by tonight, Elladan and I will try to talk to our grandmother and see what we can find out,” Elrohir said. “But at least wait till then. Galadriel doesn’t tolerate being rushed.”

“Fine,” Faramir said, shrugging helplessly. It wasn’t as if he really had a choice; he had no idea where in the vast forest Legolas might have been taken, and no one would defy the Lady to help him find out.

“Is it too early in the morning for a good stiff drink?” Elladan asked.

“Under the circumstances, I think it’s an excellent time,” Elrohir replied.

“Boromir says only drunks start on the liquor before noon,” Faramir muttered, shaking his head. “Then again, I’ve seen the hobbits drive him to drink before he’s even dressed.”

“Well, we’ll make sure you’re dressed first,” Elladan said. “Besides, Gandalf always told us you were much smarter than your brother.”

“He told Boromir that too. Boromir didn’t appreciate it much.”

“Gandalf thinks I’m the more clever one,” Elladan said smugly.

“That’s a lie. He told me I was,” Elrohir argued.

“He didn’t tell you any such thing!”

“He did, and you’re a…”

Faramir groaned. “I think I’m getting an idea why the hobbits drive Boromir to drink this early in the morning. Stop talking and start walking. I want my clean clothes.”  


 

Faramir had learned from experience to be cautious when drinking with elves. However, it appeared that the twins were less practiced in the art of alcohol consumption than Legolas. Faramir carefully sipped at the sweet, fragrant wine each time the bottle was passed to him, but the twins seemed to be drinking quite a bit more, and by the time a second bottle had made its way around, both of them seemed to be somewhat under the influence.

“I think they brew stronger wine here than at home,” Elladan said, grinning as he leaned against his brother.

The three of them were seated on the balcony outside the twins’ rooms in a talan high above the ground, with the green and golden mallorn leaves just over their heads and the railings of the balcony built around the smooth, silvery branches that supported it. The balcony was strewn with pillows, which the twins had tossed about until they had made a pile for themselves to lay in and a second pile for Faramir. At the moment, Elladan was sprawled across the pillows, his head propped up against his brother’s side, and Elrohir was leaning back against the railing as he emptied the second bottle of wine.

“It’s quite tasty, though,” he said, studying the bottle. “Is there any more?”

“I don’t think we need any more,” Faramir said quickly.

Elladan raised a lazy eyebrow, a gesture Faramir recognized from Arwen, but which Aragorn insisted was inherited from Elrond.

“Are you afraid that if we get drunk we’re going to lose our senses and try to molest you, young Faramir?”

Elrohir giggled. “We do have a reputation, you know.”

“That’s not our fault,” Elladan sulked.

“Of course it’s our fault,” his brother laughed. “Don’t you remember who started most of those rumors in the first place?”

Faramir leaned back against his pile of pillows and looked up at the canopy of mallorn leaves. “Does Mirkwood have trees like this?”

The twins sat up, a bit more alert.

“Mirkwood is mostly large, old beeches and oaks,” Elladan said. “Nearly as tall as the mallorn trees, some of them, but their canopy is so heavy and dark that almost no light finds its way through. In the north, where the Mirkwood elves live, the land is rocky and the trees are mostly pines.”

“It was still called Greenwood when we were children,” Elrohir said. “Sauron had no power there yet. But the elves there were strange even in those days… they’re Silvan elves, like most of the elves here in Lothlorien, but before Sauron isolated them in the north, they were much more widely-traveled than the elves of other realms… they traded with men and dwarves, and…”

“The Silvan elves here all speak Sindarin,” Elladan said. “The Silvan elves there speak their own version of it that most other elves can barely understand.”

“And Thranduil’s… strange behavior?” Faramir asked. “That began when Sauron took power?”

“No,” Elrohir said slowly.

“That began when his last wife sailed for Valinor,” Elladan said. “Has Legolas told you anything of her?”

“No. He said he was too  young to remember her.”

“He probably was. She was a blood relative of Galadriel’s… a distant one, but still a relative, and when Thranduil convinced her to marry him, Greedwood was still a fair place. No one talks much about what happened to her… my father says that Thranduil favored her and was devastated when she left, but our grandmother has hinted that once Legolas was born, Thranduil had no more use for her, and she fell into despair and fled across the sea.”

“Why do you ask about Mirkwood?”

“Because Legolas won’t talk about it,” Faramir said. “I know he refuses to go back… he went with Boromir last year, and when they returned…”

“He went back to Mirkwood?” Elladan exclaimed, and his brother looked equally alarmed.

Faramir nodded. “Yes, but he made my brother swear to be silent, and even the hobbits refuse to talk. He came back with a wound to his face, but of course it healed like all the others…”

Elrohir glanced at his brother, when shrugged. “You still know more about it than we do. And we know little enough about Mirkwood… we weren’t allowed to visit there. Father said they were savages and cave-dwelling beasts. I think he only let Legolas come and stay with us so often because of how much it enraged Thranduil.”

“At least it’s not hard to tell where Legolas inherited his habit of pissing people off at every opportunity,” Faramir said, slumping into the pillows. The sun had drifted from its peak to a sloping angle, and he realized they must have wasted a good part of the afternoon this way. Of course, that had probably been the twins’ aim, to keep him occupied and keep him from going off and getting into trouble. He yawned and settled himself in more comfortably, glancing over at the twins, who had slumped back into their pillows, draped across each other and absently playing with each other’s hair.

Faramir’s eyes had just drifted closed when he felt himself being pulled suddenly and unexpectedly into darkness. He tried to fight it until a familiar voice came through it.

_Faramir?_

_Legolas? Where are you? What’s happening?_

The response was slow, almost lazy, and seemed to come from a distance. _I’m not quite sure. Actually, I’m not at all sure. It’s dark and it’s quiet…_

_Gandalf? Galadriel? Are they there?_

He could feel the confusion drift across the space between them.

_Why would Galadriel be here? Or Gandalf, for that matter? I don’t… what’s happening? I can’t move. I can’t…_

_Legolas! It’s all right. Don’t you remember about the Glittering Caves, and riding here?_

_I haven’t been to the Glittering Caves in years. And I don’t know where ‘here’ is. And what’s happening, and why don’t I remember it?_

Faramir heard the confusion shifting to panic.

_Legolas, it will be all right. We’re in Lorien. Gandalf and Galadriel are trying to help you._

_Why? Why are we in Lorien? What’s happening?_

_Don’t you even remember the potions? The spells?_

A long moment of silence, and the answer was somewhat calmer.

_I remember that._

_It’s done something very bad to you, and they’re trying to undo it. Let them do whatever they need to do._

_Why can’t you be here? Where are you?_

Faramir was trying to think of a way to explain exactly what the spell seemed to have done and why Galadriel and Gandalf didn’t want him anywhere near the elf at the moment when Legolas interrupted his thoughts.

_Are you with the twins?_

_Yes. Don’t worry. They’ve been quite well-behaved._

_Tell them I said that if they touch you, I’ll kill both of them…_

_I’ll make sure to tell them. I don’t think they…_

The communication was abruptly cut off by a blinding flash of white heat that seared across the darkness in Faramir’s head and then seemed to burn through his entire body, scalding him from the inside and burning the air out of his lungs. He flung his arms out, trying to grasp something, and then there were cool hands grasping at him, and voices, in his ears instead of his head this time, calling his name and sounding quite alarmed.

He dragged himself up out of the darkness, letting the demanding voices guide him, and finally he managed to gasp in a deep breath of air and open his eyes. Two concerned faces were leaning over him, wide-eyed.

“Faramir?”

He took another deep breath as the strange burning sensation faded back into the darkness.

“I’m all right…”

“You don’t look all right!” Elrohir exclaimed. “Can you breathe?”

“I can now.”

“What happened?”

Faramir attempted to explain, although he found that his thoughts were still muddled and half-lost. The twins gave each other another twin look and frowned.

“Didn’t our grandmother tell you _not_ to connect with him?”

“I didn’t,” Faramir said. “He… I didn’t have much of a chance to do anything about it. It was like being pulled down…”

Elrohir glanced at his brother before looking back to Faramir. “They’ve probably put him under something to keep him from hurting himself, or anyone else.”

“What was that horrible burning? It felt like…”

He extended his arms and looked at them, half expecting them to be red and scalded, but they were unmarked.

“It wasn’t you. It was Legolas. That’s why they didn’t want you to…”

“Is that what they’re doing to him?” Faramir demanded.

“Faramir,” Elladan said, “you must remember that whatever they’re doing is only to undo whatever he’s already done to himself. It’s his own foolishness that’s done it, not them, and you getting upset about it won’t help him.”

Faramir shook his head. “I have to know what’s happening. Please… can’t you at least try to ask your grandmother?”

Both twins sighed.

“We can try,” Elrohir said. “It’s not likely to go well, but we can try. We’ll only go talk to her if you agree to go back to your room and stay there and promise not to do anything stupid.”

“Fine.”

“You are a man of your word, aren’t you, Faramir?”

“Yes, I am. If I tell you I’ll go back there and stay there, that’s where you’ll find me, unless someone else gives me other instructions.”

“Just… stay out of trouble. Or we’ll be in worse than you.”

“And don’t even think about trying to contact Legolas… Galadriel will know about it, and she won’t be pleased.”

 

 

Faramir paced his room impatiently for a while, then tried laying on the bed, then resumed pacing. He had just started considering whether to go out and look for the twins when someone knocked on his door. He opened it, expecting to find two dark-haired elves, but instead he found one fair-haired one dressed in the attire of the Lorien guards.

“Captain Faramir,” the elf said, his tone cool.

“Yes. And you are…”

The elf brushed by him and stepped into the room, looking around as if checking to see if anything questionable had been left lying around. Finding nothing out of place, he turned back to the man.

“I am Haldir, the Marchwarden of Lorien.”

“I see,” Faramir muttered, recalling Boromir’s description of the  Marchwarden as needing to have his head forcefully removed from his posterior cavity, a sentiment Legolas had actually agreed with, even though Boromir had said it.

“The twins were to have brought you to me as soon as you were prepared for company this morning, but apparently they took it upon themselves to entertain you instead… which is hardly surprising, considering that entertaining themselves is their primary occupation.”

“Did you want something?” Faramir asked.

The elf scowled and muttered under his breath about men having no manners.

“It’s my duty to meet with all arrivals to Lorien and make sure that they understand the rules and expectations for their conduct while here.”

“I’m assuming Elladan and Elrohir aren’t shining examples of those rules,” Faramir said.

“They are not,” Haldir said, picking up the pitcher of water on the washstand and inspecting it. “I would question the wisdom of putting you into their hands, but the order came from my Lady, and I do not question her decisions, even when they seem… questionable.”

“From our brief meeting, the Lady Galadriel strikes me as one who wouldn’t take well to having her decisions questioned,” Faramir said.

Haldir smiled wryly. “That would be a fair statement.”

“Have I satisfied your curiosity, or do you have more questions for me?”

Haldir shrugged. “That depends. How many questions are you inclined to answer?”

Faramir sat down at the table. “That depends on the question.”

“Legolas.”

“That’s not a question.”

“No, it’s not. He and the twins have been friends since their youth and he was often in Rivendell, but his arrival in my forest with the Fellowship was my first meeting with him. He has been here several times since, and I had made inquiries…”

“Oh?”

Haldir turned around and sighed. “Is it true that he is bonded to you?”

Faramir couldn’t suppress his grin. “Are you jealous, Marchwarden?”

“No. Merely curious.”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“I see. I had wondered… what would persuade any elf, much less a Prince, to allow themselves to be bound to a mortal. Arwen’s father highly disapproved of her decision, but at least she married a King… but still, a mortal king.”

“And your point is?”

“Well, surely you’re aware of the fate Arwen chose when she wed Elessar?”

Faramir watched the Marchwarden suspiciously. “I know she chose to give up her immortality.”

“Yes…”

“And your point?”

“Did Legolas make the same trade?” Haldir asked.

“Arwen’s father is half-elven. It was her human blood that allowed her to choose her fate. Legolas has no…”

“No mortal blood, no,” Haldir mused, looking out one of the windows. “Well, then. Perhaps when he’s finished with his little experiment with playing among mortals, he’ll come back among his own people and choose a more suitable mate.”

“Excuse me?” Faramir demanded.

“You heard me. Legolas has always been an elf inclined to act upon his whims. This current one seems tremendously important to you, I’m sure, but to an immortal, your lifespan is a trivial period of time, and I expect you’ll be forgotten quickly enough.”

“I suspect you’re quite wrong about that, Haldir,” a voice from the door said, and Faramir turned to find the twins watching them.

“Oh, surely the Prince will tire of his toy, even if they have done some sort of bonding thing,” Haldir said, waving his hand dismissively in Faramir’s direction.

“First of all,” one of the twins said, “even if Legolas did seek another partner, it would never in the entire existence of Middle Earth be an arrogant, obsessively controlling one like you…”

“And a _Silvan_ elf, too,” the other twin muttered, and Haldir’s face flushed.

“A Silvan elf is still better than a mortal.”

“Second of all,” the first twin said, “Perhaps you fail to understand that Legolas didn’t just agree to some sort of bonding with this particular mortal; our sister performed the spell to bind them in order to bring Legolas back from death.”

“I see,” Haldir said, eyes narrowed.

“What we’re trying to tell you is that you’re not going to convince Faramir of anything, and you’re not going to win Legolas away from him, and you’re making an ass of yourself, and you should go away now.”

Haldir scowled. “I have a right to question any…”

“We shall go directly to our grandmother and discuss with her the content of your interrogation. Does she know you maintain the right to question her guests about their intimate relationships?”

The Marchwarden’s face changed abruptly as the mask of cool precision fell back over it. “Take your mortal and have your fun, you filthy-minded half-elves.”

“No, no, no,” the other twin said. “You’re here for a reason. You wouldn’t have come to bother Faramir if someone hadn’t given you an excuse to. Who sent you?”

Haldir gritted his teeth. “The White Wizard sent me with a message.”

“And does the White Wizard know you failed to deliver his message?”

“Only because certain rude Rivendell elves interrupted me,” Haldir shot back.

“The message,” the other twin said.

Haldir sighed. “The White Wizard requests Faramir’s presence in his rooms.”

“Good. Now, go away.”

Haldir stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Faramir watched him go, frowning.

“What was that all about?”

The first twin, who Faramir suspected was Elladan, chuckled. “We’re not the only elves to have attempted to persuade Legolas into our beds… without success, mind you. But Haldir takes rejection very poorly, especially since he doesn’t normally have any interest in other males, and it was rather a bit of a scandal among his troops when they found out about it… which Legolas made sure they did.”

“I see,” Faramir said, trying to imagine the Marchwarden attempting to woo Legolas.

“You must understand that Legolas’ recklessness and unpredictability is attractive to other elves for the same reason that the imperfections of mortal bodies are attractive… because it’s different and unusual and suggests that he might be something entirely different from what all of us have become accustomed to.”

“He’s definitely different than anything I was accustomed to,” Faramir admitted, “but I hadn’t had a tremendous amount of experience for comparison.”

“We found him very intriguing… and so do many other elves. You mustn’t mind Haldir… Legolas despises him.”

Faramir sighed and leaned back in his chair. “But what he said, about my lifespan being insignificant to an elf?”

The twins gave each other a look, and this time Faramir clearly caught the echo of a thought passing between them.

“You can communicate without speaking.”

“With each other. Sometimes with Arwen, or with our father or grandmother. Galadriel says it’s because we’re twins and were born as one spirit in two bodies.”

“What about Legolas and…”

Elladan frowned. “You do know that you shared a part of your own spirit with Legolas to bring him back, correct?”

“Yes. And I was happy to do it.”

“Has no one mentioned to you what that means?” Elrohir asked. “Legolas is no longer entirely immortal. He has an immortal body, but not a purely immortal spirit.”

“What does that mean?” Faramir demanded.

“It means,” Elladan said, “that when you die, Legolas may die as well. It’s hard to say for sure… there aren’t really many other examples to compare with  you two… but it means that it’s definitely possible that Legolas will be unable to live very long without you.”

“And he knows it,” Elrohir said quietly. “And he didn’t tell you, did he.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Faramir said, shaking his head, feeling suddenly very tired. “Why would he mention such a trivial thing to me? Surely Arwen knows…”

“Arwen knew it when she bound you two. But you know our sister. If Legolas made her swear not to tell you…”

“Arwen keeps her word,” Faramir said. “And if anyone would understand, it would be her…”

He scowled and pushed his chair back from the table, giving the twins a sharp look.

“Exactly how much else has the bastard been keeping a secret from me?”

“We wouldn’t know,” Elrohir said.

“But,” Elladan added, “it might explain why he would suddenly decide to take such bizarre steps to try to…”

Faramir shook his head. “No. That was because of Livien.”

“Our sister’s little girl?”

“It would have been impossible to notice how much I adore her…”

“Don’t assume that this is all about you,” Elladan said. “Elves… immortality reduces the sense of needing to leave children to carry on after you’re gone. After all, most elves expect to live until the end of Arda. There’s no sense of… needing to leave some part of yourself in the world after you’re gone. Legolas may have known that you wanted a child of your own… but perhaps knowing that his life might not go on forever has also made him think of what he’ll leave behind.”

Faramir shook his head again, still trying to absorb the information. “Why would he not tell me that…”

“If all goes well, you’ll be able to ask him that yourself, soon enough,” Elrohir said. “But for now, we’d better take you to Gandalf… he doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and we do it to annoy him, but I don’t think we want to annoy him today.”

 

Gandalf was sitting at the table in the comfortable suite of rooms that was always waiting for him in Lothlorien, blowing smoke rings and watching them drift up among the lamps in the fading daylight, when Faramir and the twins arrived. He waited until the last of the smoke rings had faded before acknowledging their presence with a raised bushy eyebrow.

“It took you three enough time to get here.”

“Well,” Elladan shot back, “perhaps you should have sent someone other than Haldir as your messenger if you didn’t want him interfering with the message.”

Gandalf rolled his eyes. “Is he still bothered about that business? Immortality and immaturity do seem to coexist in some elves. You may leave me and Faramir to talk… I’ll make sure he returns to his room safely.”

“But Galadriel…”

Gandalf sighed. “Up until two hours ago, I have been with Galadriel since the moment I arrived. We are both rather weary, and she knows I shall handle young Faramir for the rest of the evening. You may retrieve him tomorrow for your amusement.”

Elladan scowled. “We haven’t just been playing with him, you know.”

“We actually do know some things worth knowing,” Elrohir added.

Gandalf’s expression softened slightly. “I know you do, and I know Legolas is your friend. Leave us for now… Faramir will have more to tell you about his condition in the morning.”

The twins grudgingly escorted each other to the door. Gandalf waited until the door was shut before he called out.

“And you can stop listening at the door, as well… I know perfectly well you’re out there.”

Muffled curses, and footsteps off down the hall.

“That’s better,” Gandalf said.

“What do you have to tell me?” Faramir asked impatiently.

Gandalf took a deep draw from his pipe and exhaled a lovely series of smoke rings. “You contacted Legolas…”

“He contacted me. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“Well? Is he all right? What have you done to him? Where is he?”

Gandalf set down his pipe and looked at Faramir, and for the first time in a long time, he seemed to see the young boy he had fondly taken off and tutored during his visits to Gondor long ago.

“Easy, Faramir. He’s better than he was, and he’s making a good bit more sense than he was, and he’s refusing to cooperate with anybody until he gets to talk to you.”

Faramir leaned back against the wall, overwhelmed with relief. “That sounds more like the Legolas I know.”

Gandalf nodded. “He is, however, not at _all_ happy with Galadriel for allowing you to spend time with the twins…”

Faramir sighed. “I would think he’d have the good sense not to worry about what I would do…”

“I don’t think he’s worried about what you would do… or even what they would do. I think he’s extremely concerned about what sort of things they might have told you.”

Faramir scowled. “Well, when it comes to that, he _should_ be concerned. He’s got a hell of a lot of questions to answer.”

“Not tonight, Faramir. They can wait.”

“They can wait,” Faramir agreed. “But he wouldn’t be so worried if he didn’t know quite how many damned secrets he’s been keeping from me.”

“He may have reason to be worried. But don’t get him worked up tonight. He’s a difficult enough patient without all of that.”

“Can I see him?”

Gandalf rose to his feet. “Come along, young Faramir.”

 

 

Faramir followed the wizard among the maze of bridges and pathways that connected the tree-top dwellings and halls. He had not realized how large a city could be built among the canopies of trees, but the mallorns seemed willing to support the burden without wavering. Faramir ran his fingers over the smooth trunks that rose through the floors as they passed them.

“The mallorns have a sort of magic of their own,” Gandalf said. “Their presence not only makes Lothlorien beautiful; it also lulls the elves here into a peace that lets them think little about the trouble beyond their borders. Only the guardians and warriors know what effort it takes, both in fighting forces and in Galadriel’s own power, to keep this peace.”

“The twins spoke of the Three Rings…”

Gandalf scowled. “The twins often speak of things that are not of their concern. They know their father possesses one of them, and that Galadriel and I possess the other two, but they know nothing of their true nature or their use.”

“But you have been using their power on Legolas,” Faramir said.

Gandalf glanced at him. “Perhaps.”

“I told you, I didn’t try to connect with him. I really did intend to follow your instructions.”

“I suppose that’s true,” the wizard muttered. “Can’t blame you for the elf’s stubbornness. You know that the Three Rings have powers of protection and healing. Nenya, Galadriel’s ring, is of the element of water, which is the source of its power… but it also inflicts her with an endless longing for the sea, and only her desire to protect Lothlorien keeps her here despite it.”

“I suppose that explains why she seems so sad at times,” Faramir said.

Gandalf nodded. “The ring Nenya has the power to heal and purify by washing away that which is evil or dangerous… it purifies by cleansing. Its power has kept Lothlorien pure and untouched through the ages…”

“And Narya? The ring of fire?”

“Narya has the power to bring warmth and courage and strength to the hearts of those in its presence,” Gandalf said. “And it has the power to heal as well. But while water cleanses evil or illness or darkness away, fire must purify by burning. There are things that can’t be washed away, unfortunately. And before you glare at me, don’t think I was the only one doing unpleasant things to Legolas… Galadriel’s use of her powers is hardly gentler than mine, and she’s not happy to be wasting them saving an elf from his own foolishness…”

“Then why is she doing it? Because Arwen asked her to?”

Gandalf tugged at his beard. “Partly because Arwen asked her to, no doubt. But she seems to feel that there’s some reason this is more important than just Legolas… as though saving him is an annoyance required of her for some other purpose.”

“What does she know that you don’t?” Faramir asked. “I thought the Istari knew everything.”

“You know perfectly well that I don’t know everything,” Gandalf retorted. “And Galadriel keeps her thoughts to herself. The Valar speak to both of us, but in different ways, and they ask different things of us.”

“You have one thing very much in common,” Faramir said.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Extremely unhelpful answers.”

“Impudent boy,” Gandalf said, rolling his eyes. “You have too much in common with your brother sometimes.”

Faramir chuckled as he followed the wizard across another series of bridges, with smaller ones leading off into other trees and what Faramir assumed were personal residences of the Lorien elves. Eventually they came to a small talan set off by itself among the branches of the mallorns. Like most of the other buildings in this place, it had walls only for some degree of privacy, and had large windows open to the breezes. Gandalf did not bother to knock on the door before opening it and stepping in, and Faramir followed him.

The room was not unlike the one he had been given to sleep in, except that there was no curtain separating the bed from the rest of the space, and the table was covered with dusty old books and an assortment of bottles, vials, and notes scribbled in Gandalf’s spidery handwriting. Faramir looked quickly toward the bed and was relieved to see no restraints or bindings in sight, just a head of disheveled blond hair resting on a plain white pillow. One arm was draped over his face as if to block out the green-filtered sunlight, and Faramir saw that the wound on the wrist had been cleaned and bandaged again, but he could still see the red streaks across the pale cheek that was exposed to his sight.

“You could at least acknowledge that you have company,” Gandalf said.

“I don’t know why,” came the quiet reply.

“Because it’s polite.”

“I meant that I don’t know why I have company.”

“I’m not sure either, if all you’re going to do is feel sorry for yourself,” Gandalf said. “Especially since I’ve grown tired of your complaining and decided to allow Faramir to come see you.”

The elf’s head snapped up, and Faramir realized that despite their bond Legolas hadn’t known he was there.

“Faramir! I didn’t realize…”

He stopped and looked down at the bandages on his wrists, at Gandalf, and then down at the floor.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked Gandalf to let me see you.”

“I’ve been waiting for them to let me see you since the minute they took you away,” Faramir said. “I’ve been…”

“You’ve been talking to the twins,” Legolas said, refusing to look at him. “And I expect they told you quite a few things you didn’t know before, and I expect you’re not happy about most of it.”

“I’m not happy that I had to hear it from them instead of you. I didn’t know we had secrets from each other, especially after…”

“Everyone has secrets,” Legolas said sharply.

“I don’t have any secrets. Not from you,” Faramir said.

Gandalf shook his head. “Elves… always such secretive creatures. Even when there’s no reason to be. It seems to be a habit. Perhaps, Legolas, an apology might be…”

“I apologize for nothing,” he said quietly. “It would make no difference.”

Faramir stood for a long moment; he had never seen the elf’s shoulders slumped in such resignation or his eyes so distant and so despairing.

“You’re right,” he said. “It would make no difference at all. Because nothing that they told me, and nothing you haven’t told me, will change the way I feel. Did you think I would just stop loving you? You should know me better than that, Legolas, even if I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. You’re still my partner. Why do you think I let it be known all over Gondor despite the harsh words and the mockery that come from it? Do you think anything would make me turn my back on you?”

Legolas finally looked up at him, eyes blue and unfathomable. “I assumed you already had.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve lied to you, hidden things from you, done foolish and reckless things…”

Faramir shook his head and smiled slightly. “Legolas, other than perhaps the lying, none of that is anything I’m not already used to. Loving you has never been any easy road, you know.”

Legolas sighed. “And yet loving you is so easy.”

Faramir shrugged and held out his hands. “I am who I am.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with…”

“I don’t care. The point at which we might have debated whether loving you was worth the price is long, long past, Legolas. I may not have always understood exactly what the price would be… I may still not understand, not completely… but that makes no difference.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Legolas said bitterly.

“I suppose love makes fools of us all,” Faramir said. “Are you trying to convince me to leave?”

Legolas looked at him for a long moment. “Yes.”

 “What?”

“Yes. I’m trying to convince you to leave. I want you to leave here and go back to Gondor with your family.”

“And without my partner? You can’t mean that. You’re just…”

“I said it and I mean it,” Legolas said sharply, turning away. “I want you to go back to Minas Tirith and be with your brother and the others.”

“And what will you do?”

Legolas shrugged.

“You’re being unreasonable and ridiculous,” Faramir said. “You’re exhausted and ill. I’m not going to listen to…”

Legolas looked at Gandalf. “If I ask Galadriel to send him away, will she do it?”

“I don’t see why she should. He’s done no wrong and no harm.”

“Then send me away.”

“You are in no condition to leave here,” Gandalf said sternly. “Even if you were able to make it out of this room without assistance, you wouldn’t make it half a day outside the protective power of Lothlorien. You have considerable healing left to do, and because Galadriel promised Arwen that she would care for you, she won’t allow you to leave until you’re well enough.”

Legolas scowled. “Then at least send Faramir home.”

“I want to be here with you!”

“You think you do,” Legolas said quietly. “You haven’t have time yet. Time to think about everything the twins have told you and everything you’ve seen and heard. Once you’re away from me, back among those who deserve your company more than I do, you’ll have time to think, and then you’ll understand, and then you’ll be glad I made you go.”

Faramir stood for a moment, staring at the elf. Gandalf seemed about to say something, but his expression was almost as stunned as Faramir’s.

“Have you lost your mind, Legolas?” the wizard finally asked.

“No. Perhaps I’ve finally found it. Faramir has always deserved better than the most foolish and destructive and thoughtless of my father’s many offspring.”

“But I don’t _want_ …”

“You don’t know what you want,” Legolas snapped. “You’re a mortal. Of my thousands of years of life, you know only a handful of them, and you didn’t even know as much about those as you thought you did. Go home to Gondor and be where you belong, and you’ll start to understand why I’m doing this.”

Gandalf shook his head. “Legolas, I thought that perhaps with Faramir you had finally allowed yourself to…”

“Well, you were obviously wrong. I want you both to leave. Now. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I want you to send Faramir away immediately, back to Gondor.”

“I will not send Faramir away…” Gandalf said.

“You won’t have to,” Faramir interrupted.

Gandalf frowned. “You’re leaving?”

“He wants me to leave. I won’t stay if he wants me to leave. He wants me to go home to Gondor and think. So I will. I’ve played every game and run every race and solved every puzzle and done every foolish thing that he’s asked of me, because I love him, and if this is his new game, I’ll play it.”

Legolas looked at the wall and said nothing.

“If this is what you want,” Faramir said.

“Go.”

Gandalf laid a hand on Faramir’s arm. “Very well, then. Come with me, Faramir. We’ll arrange for you to leave tomorrow.”

He opened the door, let Faramir step past him into the warm, clear air of the forest, and closed the door behind them.

“I should say goodbye to the twins before I leave,” Faramir said.

“I suspect they would be more than happy to accompany you,” Gandalf said. “They’ve been wanting to go to Minas Tirith and see their sister and the new baby, and they love to travel. They’ll be good company for you, and they’re always happy to drop everything and leave at a moment’s notice.”

Faramir nodded. “It will make the journey easier.”

“Faramir, are you sure…”

Faramir glanced at the wizard. “Am I wrong to leave?”

“You are among the most patient men I’ve ever known, and that includes most of the immortal ones. But your patience isn’t infinite, and nor should it be. If he wishes to drive everyone away…”

They walked in silence for a while among the trees, high above the forest floor, listening to the soft sounds of elves.

“There was a child, Faramir.”

He stopped. “What?”

“I don’t know if Legolas knows, but I suspect he does. The spell worked… in its way. There was a child conceived, of your spirit and his. Galadriel and I knew it was there, but… you cannot force a male body to do things it was never intended to do. Even Galadriel doesn’t have that power. And even if she did… his body barely survived what he did to it, much less something so fragile and…”

“It didn’t survive.”

“There was no way it could have. Legolas _knew_ that, if he read the books… I suppose he was either hoping that reality didn’t apply to him or that some higher power would intervene, and putting his faith in higher powers isn’t a habit of his. Perhaps he hoped that since he survived so many things that he shouldn’t have, maybe…”

Faramir leaned against one of the tree trunks and looked up into the branches. “Legolas does know, doesn’t he.”

“I believe he does. Female elves always do.”

“So he attempted something that was guaranteed to fail even if it succeeded, and now he blames himself for failing to make the impossible become possible for him, because he’s Legolas and he’s supposed to be able to find a way to make his will become reality, no matter what.”

“Probably, yes.”

“What do you think he’s going to do?”

Gandalf shook his head. “I don’t know, Faramir. I do know that Galadriel won’t let him leave here, not for at least a fortnight and probably longer, and she won’t let him harm himself under her care.”

“But what if…”

Gandalf sighed and rested a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “If he does decide that he’s given up completely and that he’s tired of risking his life and surviving to tell about it…”

“Then he’ll fade. And let himself die.”

Gandalf nodded. “And if that’s what he intends to do, you staying here might only hasten his decision, if he thinks to free you from your burden more quickly. Maybe if he has time to think, and he’s thinking about something other than how much trouble and pain he is to you…”

Faramir rubbed his face. “But if that’s what happens, and I’m in Gondor, I won’t…”

“You don’t want to be here if that’s what happens, Faramir,” the wizard said. “It would do no good, and if he turns his back on this world he will have no idea whether you’re here with him or not. There would be no comfort you could give him. But I do believe that if you’re gone, he may at least see it as having time to think without obsessing over what harm he’s doing to you.”

Faramir straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Then I’ll leave tomorrow. I hope the twins will join me. It would be a long trip alone.”

“I have no doubt they will,” Gandalf said. “Let me take you back to your room so you can rest, and I’ll have some food sent for you. I’ll speak to Galadriel and the twins, and we should be prepared for your departure by midday tomorrow.”

Faramir refused to allow himself any tears until he was alone in his room, and even then only a few. If riding away and leaving Legolas here seemed cruel, forcing the elf to face his presence when it only reminded him of worse things was crueler.

There was a knock at his door, and a young elf maiden handed him a tray with a small meal and a note. He set the tray down and unfolded the paper.

_We are delighted to be joining you on your travels. It will be wonderful to bother and torment our sister and to meet the Royal Princess. Sleep peacefully; only the Valar see the future, but they are guiding your decisions and your steps._

It was signed by the twins. He read the note a few times and then set it down and, leaving the food untouched, turned to his bed and hoped the powers of Lorien would grant him one more night of dreamless sleep.

 

 

Galadriel insisted on hosting her grandsons and Faramir in her personal rooms for lunch before they departed. The finest fruits and lightest, finest baked goods and creamiest cheeses were all laid out on the small table in the airy, open courtyard high among the mallorn branches, and Faramir tried to force himself to eat some. After all, the next few days would be little but dry and uninspired travel food and lembas bread. Still, his appetite was nonexistent, and he only picked at the elegant offerings. The twins, on the other hand, ate heartily, laughing occasionally and talking excitedly about Gondor and travel adventures. No one mentioned Legolas, although Faramir could feel Galadriel’s eyes on him. He felt no judgment or condemnation in her knowing gaze, though; there was only a quiet understanding. She did, however, reprimand the twins several times on their appalling lack of table manners and scolded them that the royalty of Minas Tirith would make a mockery of their poor behavior. Faramir had to try not to spit out his wine at this, thinking that the last meal he’d shared with the royalty of Minas Tirith had involved an irritated Livien splattering her father’s potatoes across the table, a pair of hobbits snatching anything they could get off anyone’s plate, and Boromir throwing dinner rolls at them. Then again, Galadriel didn’t leave her sheltered forest, so perhaps Arwen had managed to convince her all was regal and proper in the Citadel.

 

 

It was no surprise that the twins rode identical black horses when they travelled, just to make sure they weren’t making it easy for anyone to tell them apart. Faramir had caught on to enough small signs, though, subtle mannerisms and ways of speaking and gestures that belonged to one twin and not the other, and they could still trick him if they bothered to try, but that was a scheme they usually saved for people they didn’t like.

The twins allowed Faramir the afternoon for silent brooding, but when the party of three stopped for the evening and set up camp, they insisted on building a large, cheerful bonfire and making Faramir sit by it and talk to them.

“After all,” Elladan said, “we haven’t been to Minas Tirith since our sister’s wedding, so there must be ample gossip that we need to know about before we arrive.”

“It simply wouldn’t be acceptable for us to show up without knowing everything that needs to be known,” Elrohir agreed. “It would ruin our reputation.”

Faramir had to smile as he leaned back against a stump and crossed his arms. “What do you think you need to know?”

“Oh, everything,” Elladan said immediately. “Are there still hobbits about? Is Boromir still as ill-tempered as when we met him? Has Eomer gotten married to that princess from Dol Amroth yet? How has Estel taken to parenting? And what does our sister think of having a little terror for a daughter? And what did we hear about a dragon? And…”

Faramir laughed. “Oh, where to start?”

“Well, start with whatever part is the most interesting.”

“That depends on who you ask. The hobbits clearly think they’re the most interesting…”

“All four of them are still there?”

“No, no. Just Merry and Pippin. The Ringbearer and Sam have gone back to the Shire.”

“So why have the other two little ones stayed in Gondor?”

Faramir chuckled. “Well, first of all, apparently romantic relations between cousins… especially two male cousins… is looked upon in the Shire with almost as much approval as romantic relations between siblings is looked upon among some elves.”

The twins glanced at each other and attempted to look innocent.

“And?” Elrohir asked.

“And I think it would take an army to pry them away from my brother…”

“Elbereth! They’re not sleeping with your brother!”

“Not for lack of trying… but no. Well, they do seem to sleep in his bed every night that he doesn’t throw them out, but he won’t play with them, no matter how much effort they put into persuading him…”

Elladan forced himself to curb his laughter enough to speak. “So poor Boromir is constantly pursued by a pair of randy young hobbits, who he refuses to allow any… activities… with, but is too fond of them to throw them out of his bed most nights? And where does the lady of the Steward’s house sleep?”

“At the foot of the bed, usually… or on the rug, if the hobbits are too rowdy.”

Two pairs of gray eyes blinked at him in bewilderment.

“The only lady the Steward allows in his bedroom is his dog,” Faramir said.

Elrohir laughed. “That explains the lack of news about an heir to the Stewardship…”

Elladan glared at him, and he stopped talking.

“So Boromir spends his nights with two hobbits and a dog,” Elladan said. “And if he has no female companionship…”

“He’s very loyal to his king,” Faramir said.

“Well, that’s all well and good, but…” Elrohir said, then paused. “Oh. You don’t mean…”

“ _Very_ loyal to his king,” Faramir said. “One might say that there’s very little he wouldn’t do for his king.”

Elladan raised an eyebrow. “I assume my sister knows about this.”

“Of course.”

“She probably appreciates having someone to keep Estel from pestering her!” Elrohir said. “You know how Arwen hates to be bothered when she’s in a mood.”

“Oh, tell us more about our sister!” Elladan pleaded.

Faramir shook his head. “Anything you want to know about her, you can find out from someone else. I won’t risk my Lady’s wrath by spilling her secrets to you two.”

“Well, then, tell us more about something else,” Elrohir said. “We heard rumor that Gondor has its own dragon?”

“It’s only a young dragon,” Faramir said. “He does speak, though. At least, he’s starting to.”

“And what kind of madman did they find to go out and capture a dragon?”

“No one,” Faramir said. “He followed us home. His name is Osbon.”

The twins snickered.

“Perhaps it’s fortunate most residents of Gondor don’t speak any Sindarin,” Elladan said. “Who named him that? It had to have been Legolas.”

“Almost,” Faramir said. “It was his brother.”

“Wait… what? Which brother? One of his real brothers?”

Faramir sat back and told them about Berendir and his arrival in Gondor and his assistance in rescuing Boromir and derailing Saruman’s plans to lay claim to Gondor’s most valuable port city.

“Oh, that,” Elrohir said. “I heard that you all managed to pull that entire business off with a bunch of Gandalf’s smoke bombs and a hobbit with a good throwing arm.”

“Have _you_ ever routed an entire army of Haradrim and killed an Istari with nothing but some fireworks and a pocket knife?” Faramir challenged.

Elladan smirked at his brother. “Don’t lie and say you have, either.”

“And Berendir has stayed in Minas Tirith since then?”

“Well, he spent some considerable time in Edoras…” Faramir said, knowing that whatever he told the pair would be retold in a much more scandalous version by Merry and Pippin as soon as they got the chance.

“What’s there for an elf to do in Edoras?” Elladan asked.

“You mean, other than spend time with a certain handsome but tempermental King of Rohan?”

Elrohir grinned. “From what I’ve seen of King Eomer I can’t see an elf keeping his company for terribly long.”

Faramir shrugged. “Of the two sons of Thranduil I’ve come to know, neither of them seem at all inclined to behave according to expectations… or to care what others think of their activities.”

“I believe they both inherited that from their father,” Elladan said. “That, and the highly questionable belief that their stubbornness and strength of will alone allow them to disregard the world the rest of us live in.”

“I believe that perhaps only Legolas inherited that,” Faramir said quietly.

“And yet his brother is the one who brings home pet dragons?” Elrohir said, shaking his head. “Oh, no. I assure you, it’s a family trait. And I hate to say it, as father would be furious to hear us speak of his old nemesis this way… but Thranduil’s refusal to surrender and his stubborn insistence on doing things his own way regardless of the consequences are the only reason that Mirkwood still stands after centuries of staring Sauron’s evil in the face and refusing to back down. He may be mad, but he’s strong… and so are his sons.”

There was a long moment of silence before Elladan broke it.

“I want to know more about this dragon. Were you just wandering around and it decided to stop and say hello?”

“Not exactly,” Faramir said, smiling at the memory. “It was a party. A very… interesting party.”

“Well, tell us about it!” Elladan demanded. “Any party that ends with someone bringing a dragon home is the kind of party I want to hear about.”

 

 

That night, outside the shelter of Lorien’s magic, Faramir found himself bombarded by the dreams he’d been at peace from. He managed to block most of them out, but woke in the morning with some irritating flashes of his brother arguing with Merry and Pippin over who had turned the bed sheets all around, a curious brush across his mind from Arwen, and some repeated and very determined appearances by a scowling, impatient Livien.

“What is that look for?” Elladan asked, watching Faramir as he sat up in the morning light and tried to shake the thoughts out of his head.

“I think Livien has realized that I’m not in Lorien anymore… I mean, she’s realized she can contact me again.”

“So now you’ll have no peace till you can appease her,” Elrohir said, amused. “She _is_ a miniature Arwen. It’s amazing.”

Faramir couldn’t help but smile to himself. Livien was more than a small copy of her mother; formidable as Arwen was, Livien not only had her mother’s powerful personality but also the traits that had led Aragorn to his throne despite all odds. He wondered what she would think of her uncles, and he chuckled at the thought of them receiving the kind of scornful, dismissive gaze that she normally reserved for nannies she disliked and for her mother when she was angry with her.

“I imagine that the sooner we get to Minas Tirith, the happier Livien and everyone around her will be,” Elladan said.

“I’m sure we can make good distance today,” Elrohir said. “Shall we have some lembas and get on our way?”

As they rode, the twins talked about how each hour, each landmark brought them closer to Gondor, their sister, and the many entertaining adventures they intended to have there. Though they made a point of not mentioning that they were leaving Lorien in the distance, no one needed to remind Faramir of it; he could feel the growing distance from Legolas like a rope pulling tighter and tighter as it stretched. He wasn’t sure exactly when the pull reached the point of becoming almost painful, but he did notice that the twins had fallen back to ride on either side of him, insisting on asking him questions, encouraging him forward, and at some time near dusk he realized that the feeling had subsided. It bothered him less than he thought it would; Legolas had been blocking him out for so long that this was, if nothing else, familiar.

 

“We should be within sight of Minas Tirith by nightfall,” Faramir said, as the three riders packed up their camp under a sun that despite the early hour was already beating down on them. “We’re within lands I know well now. We won’t reach the city today, though… this heat is hard on the horses, if not on their riders.”

The twins glanced at each other and looked slightly guilty; they’d forgotten that although the heat didn’t bother them, the unreasonably high temperatures were exhausting and uncomfortable for Faramir.

“Well, let’s ride for a few hours until the sun is high. Then perhaps we can find a shady spot near the river where the horses can drink and cool off, and we can have lunch and rest for a while. If we won’t make it to the city until tomorrow, there’s no reason to rush today.”

Faramir nodded, grateful for the reprieve. He was even more grateful for it when the sun started to reach its peak in the cloudless blue sky. A bend in the road brought them to a stand of tall, spreading oak trees casting their shade over the sandy riverbank. The horses, dark and sleek with sweat, were unsaddled and set free, and they immediately made their way to the shallows of the river, where they splashed and drank with obvious relief. Faramir slumped down against one of the broad tree trunks, almost dizzy from the relentless sun. One of the twins handed him a flask of cool water from the river.

“We should have more care when traveling with mortals,” the other said.

“I’ll be fine,” Faramir said. “Just because we don’t like the heat doesn’t mean we can’t endure it if we have to.”

The three sat in the shade, eating apples and feeding the cores to the horses. The twins took turns telling bits and pieces of various stories of elf lore, most of which Faramir had heard, but the twins seemed to have a habit of focusing on either the dirtiest or most violent parts, which made the tales much more amusing than the versions Galdalf had given him to read as a child. It was equally entertaining that while one twin was attempting to tell his part of the story, the other one was collecting the acorns that lay scattered over the ground and trying to knock leaves off the trees with them.

Both elves and all three horses looked up at the same time.

“What?” Faramir asked.

“Someone on the road,” Elladan said. “Sounds like a lone rider.”

Faramir frowned. They had passed other travelers along the road, but most of them had been at least in pairs if not in larger groups. A lone rider had no one else to keep watch while he rested and no one to help if he ran into trouble, and though these roads were safer than they had been since the rise of Sauron in Mordor, it was still risky to travel alone.

Soon Faramir could hear the hoofbeats as well, and then a graceful bay mare came into view, moving with the steady, ground-covering, swinging walk of a horse of Rohan. Faramir recognized the lightning-bolt jagged white blaze across the mare’s face and grinned; Eomer had given her to Berendir when the elf took a liking to her, and Berendir had named her Alagos, the Sindarin word for “storm”. The rider’s pale blond hair falling down his back was almost as distinctive; few travelers riding along dusty roads could manage to look so impeccably clean and unruffled.

The twins glanced at each other.

“That can’t possibly be anyone other than Legolas’s brother,” Elrohir said.

Faramir waved, and the rider waved back and urged his horse forward into a brisk trot. Berendir reined in the mare at the edge of the oak grove and landed lightly on his feet, straightening his clothes and studying the two dark-haired elves with an unreadable expression.

“Berendir, this is…”

“I can only assume that you’re Elrohir and Elladan,” Berendir said. “I’ve heard enough stories, but I didn’t expect to meet you in person.”

Both twins rose and bowed slightly.

“Prince Berendir.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I left that title in Mirkwood, and if you know my brother as well as he says you do, you’ll know that in Mirkwood, it’s not a title one necessarily wants.”

Elladan nodded. “The only one Legolas has every tolerated calling him ‘prince’ is our grandmother, and I think that’s because she’s the only elf on Arda that even he won’t argue with.”

“Where is he?” Berendir asked, smiling at the mention of his brother, but his smile faded when he looked toward the river and saw only three horses. He turned to Faramir, frowning. “Faramir, where is my brother?”

“He’s not well enough to leave Lorien,” Faramir said, knowing Berendir would read everything he wasn’t telling him.

“That’s not… you wouldn’t have left him. If he needed strength to recover, Galadriel would have wanted you to stay so your bond could help him. Where is he? What happened to him?”

His voice rose sharply, and the twins exchanged one of their glances.

“He’s with Galadriel and Gandalf,” Faramir said. He quickly told the fair-haired elf how he’d found Legolas in the Glittering Caves and taken him to Lorien so Galadriel and Gandalf could try to undo the magical harm he’d inflicted on himself.

“He’s still in danger,” Berendir said, his tone sharpening to anger. “You left him. Why would you leave him? He shares your spirit. He’s weaker without you. You have to know that you leaving him there could…”

Both twins stepped forward at the same time and they spoke as one voice, and it took Faramir a moment to realize why he hadn’t understood them; they were speaking the Mirkwood dialect of Sindarin, the language both Legolas and Berendir had learned as their native tongue, but Faramir had never learned it. Books were not written in it, and Legolas flatly refused to speak it, except on rare occasions to Berendir. Heavily accented as it was, Faramir had caught only a few words of it, but it was enough to realize the twins had said they would draw weapons at Faramir’s side and that they would not allow anyone to speak ill of him. Berendir stepped back, confused.

“I should have known you wouldn’t just leave him… did someone send you away? Galadriel wouldn’t… I don’t understand. Why were you sent away?”

“Because your brother is a stubborn fool,” Elladan said quietly.

Berendir stared at them for a moment, then turned back to Faramir.

“ _Legolas_ sent you away?”

Faramir nodded.

“But why?”

“I think you can guess why,” Elrohir said.

Berendir’s shoulders slumped as the understanding hit him. “I see.”

“He’s alive,” Elladan said firmly, “and considering everything he’s been up to, that in and of itself is something. He may come to his senses… or he may not. But that…”

“Is his choice,” Elrohir concluded.

“What are you doing out here alone?” Faramir asked.

“Arwen told me she believed you were close to Minas Tirith and asked me to ride up the road and see if I ran into you,” Berendir said. “I don’t know if Galadriel told her, or…”

Faramir chuckled and shook his head. “Livien.”

Berendir raised his eyebrows. “The baby told her?”

“Livien knows exactly where I am. I’m sure she wasn’t happy that Galadriel was blocking her from me in Lorien, and I’m sure she knew the minute I left there.”

“The little one can’t be old enough to be talking already,” Elladan said. “She’s not even a year old yet.”

“She has ways of making herself understood,” Faramir said.

“Well, whoever told her, they were obviously right,” Berendir said. “Arwen doesn’t know that you’re bringing company, though… she sent me because she was afraid you were traveling alone.”

“We’ll be quite the surprise, then,” Elladan said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

“She’ll be delighted,” Faramir said.

“She’ll be appalled,” Elrohir chuckled. “And Estel won’t be any happier.”

“Oh, Estel,” Elladan said, grinning. “I keep forgetting the little lad is a mighty king of men, now.”

“He even has his own dragon,” Berendir said, grinning. “Although if you ask Osbon, he’ll tell you in no uncertain terms that he is _not_ a pet dragon and that he’s only staying in Gondor because we feed him and he likes my company.”

“So you have your dragon… and I hear Boromir has his hobbits,” Elrohir said.

“I wouldn’t mention that to Boromir,” Berendir said. “Not unless you want to hear a tremendous amount of complaining and growling.”

“Oh, we’re looking forward to it,” Elladan said. “That’s all he did when he was in Rivendell, anyway. Well, that and start fights with Estel.”

Elrohir snickered. “And we’ve heard how _that_ turned out. I suppose they don’t start fights with each other as often anymore.”

Faramir rolled his eyes. “They’re ten times _worse_ now. They have more things to fight about.”

“It’s a shame Legolas won’t be in on the fun,” Elladan said, “but I must say, I’m looking forward to this visit more and more.”

 

 

The party of four arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith before noon the next day. The guards greeted Berendir and Faramir, but looked somewhat suspiciously at the two identical dark-haired strangers.

“I think they expect all elves to be blond, considering that Legolas and I are the only ones most of them have met,” Berendir said, as stable boys came to take their horses and lead them away.

“Our sister is a dark-haired elf,” Elladan said.

“True,” Berendir agreed, “but I don’t think people here think of her as an elf. They just think of her as The Queen.”

“And only the guards of the citadel actually see the royal family on any regular basis,” Faramir added. “If the great Elessar or his queen makes an appearance, people get excited and come crowding out to see them, and it makes a mess and blocks the streets and annoys them tremendously, especially Arwen, and they’ve been worse since Livien was born… all sorts of noise about the royal heir and when there will be a son to be a _proper_ heir and all that…”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. “Livien isn’t a proper heir?”

“You know how men are,” Elladan reminded him. “They have quite the strong preference for male heirs, regardless of whether they’re first-born or not.”

“They’re still fussing about the Stewardship, too,” Berendir said, glancing at Faramir. “I’m just warning you. While you were gone there was some rumor among some of the soldiers and other folk that you’d gone off to find yourself a wife… they’ll be rather disappointed you came home with a pair of male elves instead.”

“People won’t ask where Legolas is?” Elladan asked.

“Legolas has spent so much time over the past few months being gone that people are used to him not being here,” Faramir said. “Considering that not even I knew where he was or when he was coming back, I think they’re hoping that whatever silly dalliance I had with him is out of my system and that now I’ll find a wife like I’m supposed to.”

They walked down the main street of the first level, broad and paved with stone, crowded with people and, in this fine weather, with stores displaying their wares in front of their buildings and others selling from carts in the street. Faramir stopped at one cart and bought a handful of blue and white flowers tied with a ribbon.

“Don’t tell me those are for Livien,” Berendir said.

“Of course they are.”

“She’s only a baby.”

Faramir smiled to himself. “She knows more than you think she does. And she’s extremely unhappy with me… doesn’t bringing a lady flowers usually improve her disposition?”

“So I’ve heard,” Elrohir said.

The conversation was interrupted as a figure emerged abruptly from the crowd, crashed into Faramir, and squeezed him in a familiar, crushing embrace.

“Oof… hello, brother.”

Boromir grinned. “Arwen said you were coming home. I’m glad to… are those Arwen’s brothers?”

“We are indeed,” Elladan said.

“Arwen didn’t say anything about them coming,” Boromir said suspiciously.

“She doesn’t know,” Faramir said. “The only reason she knew I was coming home is because Liv knows, and Liv isn’t concerned about those two… yet.”

Boromir’s eyes brightened. “So someone’s _finally_ going to get the drop on Arwen on _something_?”

Faramir glanced at the twins, but they appeared highly amused.

“It sounds as though Arwen has been behaving a bit too much like our grandmother, with the knowing everything and always making things turn out her way…” Elrohir said.

“I can assure you,” Elladan added, “that we can certainly put a dent in her unruffled demeanor like no one else on Arda.”

Boromir studied the elves for another moment, then shrugged and chuckled. “As long as I don’t have any part of it. It seems like any time she gets involved in a game, I come out on the losing end… or at least somewhere sideways from where I expected to be.”

“She’s quite good at it,” Elrohir said. “But we’re better.”

“And there’s two of us.”

Boromir turned back to his brother. “Is Legolas running off somewhere doing something odd again? I rather expected he’d be coming home with you this time.”

Faramir shook his head. “I’ll explain later.”

Boromir frowned. “You don’t sound very happy… is he in trouble? Why didn’t he come back with you? Has something happened to him?”

Faramir was a bit surprised by the genuine concern in his brother’s voice. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I want something bad to happen to him,” Boromir muttered.

“If I’m going to have to explain it to you and to Arwen and Aragorn and the hobbits, I’d rather just do it all at once and get it over with.”

“Fair enough,” Boromir said, not sounding very happy at being deprived of the information, even if only temporarily. “Well, I suppose all four of you have been traveling and would like some rest, but Faramir…”

“I know. I’m expected.”

“Oh, we must join you!” Elladan exclaimed. “I can’t wait to meet our niece for the first time.”

 “She’s a handful,” Boromir said warily.

“Then she’s exactly what her mother deserves,” Elrohir said. “Lead on, Lord Steward!”

“If you’re going to the nursery, I’m going to check on my dragon,” Berendir said. “He makes less noise and doesn’t throw things at me when he’s unhappy.”

 

 

 

Boromir knocked lightly at the door to the nursery before opening it and leaning his head in.

“You have company, my Lady. Should I let them in?”

“Of course you… wait, them?”

It was too late, of course. Boromir swung the door open, and Faramir stepped into the familiar room and immediately found himself caught by a familiar sight: little Livien on her knees, clinging to the edge of her cradle and staring at him with her wide gray eyes.

Arwen started to say something, but she was interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek that astonished all of them with its sheer volume; it didn’t seem that any creature so small should be able to make that much noise. Faramir couldn’t tell if it was a scream of surprise or delight or anger or all of them together, but he clapped his hands over his ears.

“Ouch! Livien!”

She stopped screaming and gave him a very sharp look. He held out the bouquet of flowers he’d purchased.

“Look… I brought you something pretty for your nursery.”

She made an unimpressed noise and sat down in her cradle.

“Told you the flowers wouldn’t work,” Elrohir said, as the twins stepped in behind Faramir.

It was entertaining, considering her usual composure, to watch Arwen’s face transformed by a rapid cascade of emotions, from shock to amazement to joy and then to something that might have been alarm.

“Hello, baby sister,” Elladan said.

She was up from her seat and into their arms in a flash, and both of them embraced her, laughing and petting her hair. When she finally drew back, there were tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t know… why are you here?”

“Well, we thought Faramir needed some company while traveling, and we’ve been wanting to meet our darling niece since we heard of her birth…”

She rubbed her face. “Oh… I’m sorry, I just… I never expected to see you two walk in here… that’s Livien Elanoriel Telcontar, Princess of Gondor and Arnor.”

“I think your name is bigger than you are,” Elrohir said, as the twins approached the cradle.

Livien watched them suspiciously.

“She’s at an age where she doesn’t like strangers…” Arwen said.

“But we’re her uncles!” Elladan said, his tone coaxing.

Livien glared at him.

“Can I hold her?” he asked.

“You can try,” Faramir said, recognizing the expression on the little face.

Elladan reached for the baby, then jerked his arm back, cursing in Sindarin. “She _bit_ me!”

“You didn’t ask her permission to hold her, first of all,” Faramir said, amused. “I told you she knows more than she can tell you yet.”

“But she _bit_ me! And she has teeth!”

“All four front ones, and a few more coming in,” Arwen said proudly.

Livien sat down in her cradle, grinning. Faramir kneeled so he could look at her without looking down, and she gave him a questioning look.

“I’m very sorry I had to go away, but it was necessary. I’m home now, and I promise I’ll try not to go away again for a while.”

She beamed and held out her arms, asking to be picked up, and he scooped her up and held her to his chest, feeling her nestle in contentedly.

“Fama,” she said.

He blinked and looked down at her, then at Arwen. “Did you hear that?”

Arwen smiled. “That’s how I knew you were coming home. A few days ago she started standing up and pointing toward Lorien and saying that, and she didn’t stop doing it till you got here.”

“Is… is she trying to say ‘Faramir’?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course she is,” Boromir said, chuckling. “You didn’t think she would bother with ‘mama’ or ‘dada’ or anything like that, did you?”

“You’re going to make your parents upset,” Faramir told her. “You’re supposed to be saying their names first.”

She grinned up at him. “Fama.”

“We’re not offended,” Arwen said. “She only started saying that because she was trying to tell us something. No doubt she’ll be chatting away fairly soon. She is part elven, if not half, and elf children learn to walk and talk at an earlier age than mortal children do, although they grow more slowly.”

Faramir looked toward the twins. “She might let you hold her if you asked.”

“No thanks,” Elrohir said. “I don’t need to be bitten.”

“And I don’t need to be bitten again,” Elladan added. “She’s as spoiled and temperamental as you were, little sister.”

“And she likes you almost as much as I did,” Arwen said. “If I recall from father’s tales, the first time you tried to hold me, I hit you in the nose.”

“Just wait till you have brothers and sisters,” Faramir said, looking down at Livien. “At least you’ll be the oldest.”

Arwen seemed to hesitate before she spoke again. “Faramir… my brothers said you needed company for your travels.”

“Are you asking why Legolas didn’t come back with me?”

She lowered her eyes. “I haven’t spoken to my grandmother, but I didn’t get the feeling that things were going well. Is he…”

“When we left Lorien, he was alive and being rude,” Elladan said. “It’s a rather long story, though, and I believe Faramir would rather only tell it once.”

Arwen nodded. “If you’re going to hold the baby for a few minutes, I’ll go and tell Estel about our company… expected and otherwise… and Boromir, would you go to the kitchen and ask them to prepare a meal for all of us… me, Estel, you and Faramir, my brothers… oh, and I suppose we’d better be prepared for the hobbits to join us, whether they’re invited or not.”

“I’ll go see to it,” Boromir said.

“His manners have improved since we met him in Rivendell,” Elladan said.

“His manners to me have never been anything but proper,” Arwen said. “His manners to my husband, on the other hand…”

“No doubt Estel gives as good as he gets.”

“I don’t know… I think for sheer stubbornness, Boromir has to be declared the winner, although Estel takes more time to plot his revenge.”

“That sounds like it could stir up trouble,” Elrohir said.

Faramir grinned. “Arwen puts her foot down before that happens.”

“Does she,” Elladan noted, amused.

“I do,” she said sharply, “and before you get any ideas into your head… or get rid of whatever ones are already there, because I am the Queen and this is my domain and I will not tolerate the kind of foolishness I was accustomed to tolerating from you two.”

The twins shared a glance.

“Did that sound like a challenge, dear brother?”

“Oh, it most certainly did.”

Arwen glared at them. “Don’t even think about it.”

Faramir looked over at them. “You may not want to try it. Your sister is… resourceful.”

Elladan waved a hand. “She’s still just a little elf girl in child-braids to us.”

“I won’t be by the time you leave,” she warned.

“I think that was another challenge,” Elladan said.

“I think that was a threat,” Faramir said. “And if you don’t recognize it as one, I suspect you may regret it. Come, Livien… shall we take a walk and look at the gardens?”

She made a pleased sound, and Faramir left the siblings to their arguing and walked out into the hallway, only to nearly trip over two hobbits who had been listening at the door.

“We weren’t listening at the door,” Pippin said quickly.

Merry punched him in the arm. “Hush.”

“You’ll hear the whole story of my trip at dinner,” Faramir said. “There’s no point in being nosy now.”

“Oh, but there is!” Pippin said. “If there’s going to be plotting and scheming going on…”

“Then it will _not_ involve you two!” Arwen said sternly, slamming the door.

Faramir looked down at them and raised his eyebrows. “If I were you, little ones, I’d stay out of this game. It’s a fight several thousand years older than you are, and if I were you, I’d just sit back and watch.”

 

 

The mood in the Citadel was cheerful with the news that Captain Faramir had returned, and the cooks were happy to prepare a special dinner on short notice, although they did express some consternation as to what they ought to serve to elves. Boromir reminded them that it seemed quite likely the two new elves liked the same general sorts of things that the Queen and Legolas and Berendir liked, and was amused when they seemed surprised to be reminded that they had been feeding elves for some time without any major issues.

In the hours before dinner there were quite a few people looking for Faramir to discuss various things of more or less importance with him, but no one could find him. Arwen, of course, knew that he was sitting on her private balcony with Livien, looking over the gardens, but she smiled sweetly and told anyone who asked that he had absconded with her daughter and would be back by supper time.

With Faramir gone, the twins had turned their fascination on Berendir; after all, Legolas was the only Mirkwood elf they knew well, and they amused themselves comparing similarities and differences between the half-brothers until Berendir told them to stop treating him like an animal on display. This reminded them that there was a dragon they’d been wanting to see, and Berendir was more than happy to distract them from their scrutiny of him by taking them to meet Osbon.

The dragon was snoozing in the far corner of his residence when they arrived, but at a call from Berendir he opened one eye and blinked lazily.

“There are visitors here from Rivendell who would like to meet you,” Berendir said.

Osbon grumbled and shook himself like a very large dog, then plodded to the fence where the three elves stood, glaring at them, smoke drifting from his nostrils. The twins looked a bit uneasy as he approached; apparently the term “baby dragon” had implied something smaller and less intimidating than the beast in front of them.

“Rivendell?” he muttered, looking at Berendir.

“The kingdom of elves in the north where Queen Arwen is from. These are her brothers.”

Osbon considered this for a moment; he liked the Queen, because she was quiet and brought sausages.

“Queen’s brothers.”

“Yes. They came with Faramir. I’m sure he’ll be down in the next day or two to say hello and bring you something to eat.”

“Visitors,” Osbon grumbled.

Berendir’s eyes narrowed. “Have you had visitors that I don’t know about?”

“Ehh. Small things.”

Berendir sighed. To the dragon, “small things” could be anything from mice to ponies.

“How small?”

Osbon held up one clawed forefoot to a height of a few feet. “Small things. Talk too much. Brought food, though.”

“Bloody hobbits,” Berendir muttered. “They’re not supposed to feed the dragon unless I’m here… Faramir and I did some research and apparently when dragons are kept and tended by humans, they tend to get too fat for their wings to carry them properly, so we’re trying to keep people from feeding him too much, but he’s decided he likes his fish cooked better than raw, so he tosses them up in the air and torches them on the way down, and the hobbits think it’s hilarious. They actually take their fishing poles with them when they go to the fishing pond now.”

Osbon nodded. “They bring…”

He hissed, and Berendir smiled. “Fish. I know. He speaks remarkably well, but some sounds are tricky. He understands everything, though, so don’t think he doesn’t.”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a glance.

“You know,” Elrohir said, “it might be of questionable wisdom to anger our sister when she’s in possession of such… formidable allies.”

“True,” Elladan said, looking uneasy. “Especially since we didn’t really come prepared…”

“To challenge the Queen on her own ground?” Berendir said, grinning. “If I were you, I wouldn’t even think about it.”

Elladan crossed his arms. “We’ve gotten the better of her many times in the past.”

“Well, I’ll warn you right now that she’s prepared for you. Besides the fact that she gives unquestioned orders to every workman, maid, cook, guard, and shopkeeper in this city… and the fact that her personal associates include your young foster brother, who has been the victim of most of your games already and now happens to be King of Gondor and Arnor, two Mirkwood archer-princes, and, of course, the hobbits.”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. “How dangerous can hobbits be?”

“Ask Sauron,” Berendir retorted.

Osbon rumbled a chuckle and shook his head at the twins. “Clever dragon let fight come to his cave. Dragon always win fight in own cave.”

“I’d take the dragon’s advice,” Berendir said, smiling. “But if you don’t, do keep in mind that I am officially a member of the royal family’s personal guard, and I know most of my brother’s tricks and some he doesn’t, and I _will_ consider defending my Queen from your foolishness to be my duty. Now, we should be making our way back to the castle to dress for dinner…”

Osbon looked at him hopefully. Berendir laughed.

“I’ll see if the kitchen can set something aside for you for when I come back later.”

“Tell Faramir to come tomorrow. And bring food.”

“I’ll tell him.”

The fair-haired elf turned and led the way back toward the castle, with the twins following behind him and looking a bit less confident than they had been prior to meeting Osbon. Berendir kept his face turned from them to hide his smirk; his dragon tended to have that effect on people and he knew it, and he’d intended to make sure the twins met Gondor’s royal pet before they had a chance to make any devious plans.

 

 

 

Dinner was served at the dining table in the royal rooms, and although Boromir complained at first about having to move from his usual seat next to Aragorn so that Arwen’s brothers could sit across from her, he was mollified by being seated facing his brother and with Berendir between him and the hobbits, which kept them from their usual thieving off his plate since Berendir, unlike Boromir, would briskly slap small hands that attempted to reach past him and snatch something that wasn’t theirs.

“Ordinarily, I’d be honoring our guests and asking for news from Rivendell,” Aragorn said, pouring each of the twins a glass of wine. “But I’m sure you’ll understand that…”

Elladan nodded. “No need for formalities. You know we loathe them anyway.”

“You love them when they involve you,” Arwen muttered.

“As my brother was saying,” Elrohir said, giving her a look, “obviously there are more important things to discuss…”

Aragorn glanced down the table at Faramir. “I hate to…”

“Before Faramir tells us his story,” Arwen interrupted, “I would like to make clear that under the circumstances, this would be considered an entirely inappropriate time for any sort of foolishness or games on the part of certain individuals who do not always know when to mind their manners…”

“Darling sister,” Elladan said, bowing his head. “My brother and I had already decided, all things considered…”

Berendir coughed something that sounded like “dragon”. Elladan glared at him.

“Just let Faramir talk,” Boromir said, and his tone did not encourage debate on the matter.

Faramir had been debating how to tell the tale, but considering the questions that would end up being asked later and the knowledge that would surely make its way to the others eventually, he had decided to start with his departure for the Glittering Caves and go from there, from Gandalf and his letter from Arwen to finding Legolas in such a state that it had disturbed even unflappable Gimli, and then to Lorien and everything that Galadriel and Gandalf had told him, everything the twins had told him, and finally, everything that Legolas had said to him. He struggled a bit explaining that part until he looked up and saw the expression on Berendir’s face.

“What is it?” he asked.

Berendir shook his head. “It sounds like something our father would say.”

“Legolas is more like Thranduil than he would ever admit,” Arwen said. “And Gandalf and my grandmother agreed that you should leave?”

“I don’t know that they had a tremendous amount of hope for him,” Faramir said.

“Even though they had removed the spell?” Merry asked.

Faramir hesitated for a moment. This time it was the look on Boromir’s face that undid him; his brother might not have many compliments for Legolas, but he had been quick to anger in the elf’s defense when Thranduil arrived in Minas Tirith, and quick to silence anyone who even hinted that Faramir ought to find something better to occupy his time. Now, Boromir’s expression was one of shock and bewilderment.

“That’s… there’s something else, isn’t there. There has to be. Otherwise, it just doesn’t…”

Faramir lowered his head and, quietly, revealed what Gandalf had told him after they left Legolas. The twins were as shocked as the others; this was news to them too. Even the hobbits had the good sense to be silent as the others slowly realized the full extent of the situation.

“I suppose that explains why my grandmother and Gandalf were in agreement with you leaving,” Arwen said eventually.

“He can’t just let himself die,” Boromir snapped. “That’s no way to… well, no way to do anything.”

“You don’t understand elves, Boromir,” Aragorn said.

“No, but he has a point,” Berendir said.

“See? Even the elf thinks it’s stupid!” Boromir protested, and his voice had taken on a slightly desperate tone. “Someone has to be able to talk some sense into him. Someone should…”

Arwen pushed her chair back from the table. “Boromir, enough. Estel, we should go and see to the baby. Berendir, will you be so kind as to make sure my brothers make their way to their rooms… without any mischief on the way? And…”

She only had to glance at Merry and Pippin; they knew their duty and, after quickly stuffing their pockets with whatever food was within easy reach, they immediately pounced on Boromir with their demands and cajoling and senseless chatter until he surrendered and allowed himself to be dragged off.

Arwen waited until only she and Aragorn remained before turning to Faramir.

“Will you be all right tonight?”

“I’ve spent so many nights alone in my room that I’ve become rather used to it,” he said. “I’m tired, and I’ll sleep well.”

She held out her hands helplessly. “I’m sorry, Faramir. I don’t know what else to say.”

“There’s nothing to say, my Lady. Thank you for letting me have your daughter for a little while… she’s a great comfort. Tell her I said goodnight.”

He left, and Arwen watched the door until Aragorn laid a hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her musings.

“Legolas isn’t coming back, then, is he.”

Arwen sighed. “I don’t expect that he is. Part of being immortal is expecting that all those you love are immortal as well. Elves don’t grieve well; nothing in our lives teaches us to handle loss, as we know so little of it. My brothers and I lost our mother, but a desire for revenge against all Sauron’s creatures kept my brothers strong, and my father needed me… but elves aren’t like men. They don’t grow up from childhood understanding that they and all things they love will eventually die. When men lose someone or something they love, they may grieve, but they know that this is the world as it is. For elves, loss is something foreign and strange… I’m still trying to understand it, even though I know it will be my fate.”

Aragorn took her hand, but she silenced him before he could speak.

“Come with me and we’ll say goodnight to the little one, my dear. If I ever do begin to regret the choice I made, I know that looking at the faces of our children will remind me why I’m happy I did.”

 

 

 

“It hardly seems possible she’s a year old already,” Faramir said. “Then again, she looks younger, but she speaks and walks like she’s much older.”

“That’s the elf blood,” Arwen said. “If she had been of pure elf blood, she would be able to run and tell stories and dance at this age.

“Perhaps it’s fortunate that she’s not of pure elf blood,” Faramir said. “I’m not sure I’m prepared for her to be quite that grown-up.”

Arwen smiled down at the dark-haired little girl sleeping soundly in her white nightdress. “I think her birthday party must have exhausted her.”

“She didn’t think much of it… being paraded before the entire kingdom and all that,” Faramir said. “Of course, neither did her father…”

Aragorn, sprawled in a chair by the hearth with his feet propped up, glanced over at them and smiled. “I could have made Boromir attend with us. He would have been delightful.”

“I don’t know what to do with all the gifts,” Arwen said. “There’s a whole room full of them. Everything from gold coins and fine jewelry to apples and mittens…”

“We’ll make arrangements to have it all donated to the needy,” Aragorn said. “Although the hobbits will have likely done away with any food… have you heard from the twins yet? They probably haven’t reached Lorien yet…”

“I’m surprised they didn’t stay for the birthday celebration,” Faramir said. “I tried to talk them into it, but they said they had to go.”

Arwen glanced at him. “Our grandmother summoned them back to Lorien.”

Faramir frowned. “You’ve had word from Galadriel?”

Aragorn cleared his throat and made his way toward the door as Arwen lowered her head.

“I’m sorry, Faramir. I… you’ve seemed so happy the last few weeks, planning for Livien’s birthday and helping Aragorn and Boromir with patrols to escort the fall harvests to the city…”

“The twins left a week ago.”

“They left a day or two after her letter came,” Arwen admitted. “She sent it by bird.”

“And you kept it from me?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to at least enjoy all of the celebrations… Livien’s birthday, Gondor’s best harvest in anyone’s memory…”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tonight,” she said quietly, reaching into a fold of her dress and drawing out a small roll of very thin paper. “Please don’t be angry with me. Galadriel asked me not to share it with you at all, so I had to at least keep it until the twins were well on their way, but it didn’t seem fair not to tell you at all…”

He held out his hand, and Arwen laid the delicate scroll in his palm. He unrolled it, squinting to read Galadriel’s spiderweb-thin elven script.

“The twins weren’t really a bother,” he said.

Arwen rolled her eyes. “Perhaps not to you. Besides, she doesn’t like them spending too much time away from Lorien or Imaldris… I think she fears they might decide to make the same choice I made instead of sailing for Valinor with the other elves.”

Faramir continued reading, and after a long moment he looked back up at Arwen.

“Legolas left Lorien only a few days after the twins and I did?”

She nodded and quietly took the paper from Faramir’s hands. “Against her wishes, against Gandalf’s wishes… he snuck away, and took no supplies, no weapons, nothing. She says there had been no change in his condition since you left, and… she sees no possibility of him surviving more than a day or two outside the protective influence of Lorien…”

“That was a month ago,” Faramir said. “He left there a month ago, and…”

“If there had been any other word of him, she would have contacted me,” Arwen said. “I’m sorry, Faramir, but I…”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s what I had expected. He’s kept our bond cut off for so long… but I thought I would still know, when it happened…”

“He might have looked for some way to protect you from it.”

Faramir nodded. “I’m sure he… I don’t know. I… why didn’t Galadriel want you to tell me?”

“Because she doesn’t understand mortals,” Arwen said. “She thinks that since they live with the uncertainty of death all their lives, they would prefer uncertainty to…”

Her voice trailed off, and she wrapped her arms around Faramir and embraced him tightly. They both looked up at a small, concerned sound and turned to find Livien sitting up, watching them.

“Why sad?” she asked.

“Everything’s all right, little one,” Faramir said.

“Is not,” she retorted.

“No…” he admitted. “But it will be. I promise.”

“I’ll see to her,” Arwen said. “You should go and try to rest. You’ll join Estel and I for breakfast in the morning?”

“Boromir’s expecting me to help him with some letters that need written. But I’ll join you for supper.”

“I can ask Boromir to…”

“I think I’d rather be busy, my Lady,” he said. “It’s easier not to think if you’re busy.”

 

 

 

Morning found the two brothers seated at the table in Boromir’s room, the door locked against hobbit intrusions and a stack of unanswered letters between them along with a plate of pastries.

“How long have you been ignoring these?” Faramir asked, scowling.

Boromir shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just pile them on my desk until someone starts complaining.”

“You’re a terrible Steward.”

“I am not.”

“You’re appalling at diplomacy, you have worse manners than Berendir’s dragon, and you hate every sort of meeting and paperwork…”

“Other than that, I’m an excellent Steward,” Boromir said, chuckling. “Why? Do you want the job?”

“No, thank you.”

There was a knock at the door.

“That had better not be hobbits!” Boromir shouted.

“It’s not hobbits, my Lord Steward!”

Boromir unlocked the door and found a young messenger standing in the hall.

“What is it, lad?”

“I have a message from the tower lookout guards, sir.”

“What is it?”

“They report that they just observed a very large eagle flying past the walls of the city, and that it appeared to be carrying at least one, and possibly two passengers.”

Boromir frowned. “An eagle, hmm? Where did it go?”

“They lost sight of it, but it may have landed somewhere in the forest near the city.”

Boromir muttered something at the messenger and slammed the door, turning around to scowl at Faramir.

“Well, now nothing’s going to get done.”

“Why?”

“Because who do you know who shows up riding eagles?”

“Generally just Gandalf.”

“Exactly. And that means nothing’s going to get done, because he’s going to insist on everyone stopping everything they’re doing and attending to whatever foolish…”

He had apparently forgotten to lock the door again, because it nearly hit him when Merry and Pippin barged in, talking excitedly over each other, as usual.

“An eagle…”

“And Gandalf!”

“And he has…”

“There was a…”

“Would you shut up so I can tell him?”

“I’m telling him! You shut up!”

Boromir growled. “If this is about Gandalf showing up on an eagle, I already know about it, and I’m going to pretend I don’t.”

“Actually,” Merry said. “I think you ought to come with us.”

“What for?”

“And Faramir, too,” Pippin added. “Come on… hurry up! They’re down by our fishing pond right now!”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Boromir asked. “Gandalf and his bird friend?”

“No, the eagle left.”

“Then who…”

“Just come with us!”

“You go deal with it,” Boromir muttered at his brother. “You’re the diplomatic one, right?”

“Compared to you…”

“Just go see what the old bastard wants.”

 

 

Faramir followed the hobbits down the path among the trees and into the clearing by the fishing pond. He stopped for a moment at the edge of the trees; he had been to this spot many times since the day Gandalf asked the Valar to recognize his bond with Legolas, but seeing the old man in his white robes standing by the water dragged out a sudden rush of memories.

Gandalf waved off the hobbits as they chattered at him and, brushing them aside, walked toward Faramir. One hand held his staff; the other held a scroll with the seal of the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien imprinted in gold wax.

“I came to speak to you, Faramir,” he said.

“If this is about Legolas…  I know he left Lorien, and…”

Gandalf frowned. “I knew Galadriel sent word of that to Arwen, but she asked her to keep it from you.”

“I know. I don’t appreciate it.”

“The Lady’s decisions are not to be questioned,” Gandalf said.

“I hope you didn’t come all this way just to tell me…”

Gandalf scowled. “If you’re going to act that way, just read it yourself.”

He shoved the scroll at Faramir. He carefully unrolled it. The writing on this one was Galadriel’s, but the letters were bolder, more official, and more formal. Faramir translated the Sindarin aloud as he read.

“To any and all concerned parties… this letter is to serve as formal notification of…”

He stopped, interrupted by a giggle from the side of the water that didn’t sound like a hobbit’s.

“Gandalf? What…”

Gandalf glanced over his shoulder. “Come here, my dear. Someone is waiting for you.”

From the weeds beside the water, a head full of long, curly, copper-colored curls popped up, falling around a pair of slightly pointed ears and a bright little face with elven features, but with wide gray eyes that stared back at Faramir like his own reflection. The little figure scrambled up the bank, barefoot and dressed only in a green slip of a dress, slender and light and quick as an arrow, but stopped and studied Faramir curiously.

Gandalf took the scroll from Faramir.

“It says,” he explained, watching Faramir’s stunned face, “that since many of the elves of Lorien are sailing for Valinor, this young lady’s mother wished that she come and spend some time living among mortals and that she learn to know the father she never met. She apologizes, of course, for keeping the child a secret from you, but you must know that having an illegitimate child, and with a mortal man, no less, is quite the scandal…”

“I don’t have an illegitimate child,” Faramir murmured. “What trickery is this?”

“Of course you don’t,” Gandalf said. “But Galadriel had to write a nice letter that would explain everything so that the people of Gondor wouldn’t question the arrival of your daughter.”

“I don’t have a daughter…”

Gandalf rubbed his forehead. “Faramir... I told you that there was a child.”

“A child that didn’t survive.”

“No. But the Valar… they don’t explain themselves, not to me or to Galadriel, but they show us some small glimpses of their plan. Do you know what happens to elves when they die?”

“They go to Mandos, and they’re returned to their bodies and travel to Valinor…”

“Unless, like Glorfindel or a few other elves, they have some business left in this world,” Gandalf said. “Apparently, the Valar felt very, very strongly that this young lady has some very important business in this world.”

The girl looked up at Faramir and smiled. “The Lady says that I have very important things to do.”

Faramir stared down at her. “You can’t mean that this is…”

“Do you doubt it? Could she possibly look any more like you and Legolas together?”

“Are you Captain Faramir?” she asked excitedly. “My father? The Lady showed me so many pictures of you in her mirror and told me how kind you are and what a wonderful life I’m going to have here with you!”

“What is your name?” Faramir asked, still almost too stunned to speak.

“Anniel,” she said cheerfully. “It means ‘gift daughter’.”

“She made it very clear to the Valar she did not want the body of an infant on her return,” Gandalf said. “She wanted to be an adult, but that wouldn’t have worked well… so they at least allowed her to be old enough to communicate properly. According to Galadriel, she is three years old today.”

“She sounds so much older…”

“First of all, she’s half elven. Second of all, she’s already been to Mandos and back.”

The hobbits had been listening in wide-eyed silence, but Pippin suddenly broke it with an exclamation of delight.

“You have a daughter, Faramir!”

“And she’s lovely!” Merry added.

“Legolas will be…”

Gandalf gave Pippin a sharp look, and he fell silent.

“Oh.”

“The lady showed me pictures of Legolas,” Anniel said solemnly. “She said he was my other father… my Ada, my elf father. But she didn’t tell me much about him.”

“Regardless,” Gandalf declared, “Faramir, you have a lovely young daughter, and we should go and speak with the King and Queen and make appropriate arrangements.”

“Faramir has a daughter!” Pippin said, clapping his hands with delight.

“Yes,” Merry agreed. “And ‘throw a fit’ doesn’t even begin to describe what Livien’s going to do when she finds out.”

 

 

The abrupt arrival of Anniel had immediately thrown the entire citadel into complete disarray, with Aragorn managing how the situation would be announced, Arwen calling in every servant and craftsperson she could find to immediately start turning the empty room across from Faramir’s into one appropriate for a young lady (and at the same time cursing her grandmother in very questionable language for surprising them all in such a fashion), Boromir disappearing and reappearing and muttering to no one in particular and staring at the little girl like she must be from another world (which, Faramir supposed, she was, in a way), guards and others sticking their heads in to catch a glimpse of the mysterious child, and Gandalf giving orders that no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to. As the chaos unfolded across the royal chambers, the cause of it all sat on a sofa beside Faramir, watching with puzzlement and some amusement.

“I didn’t realize that there would be so much fuss,” she said.

Faramir looked down at her, still too stunned to put words together.

“That’s how Men are,” Merry said; the two hobbits were sitting at the girl’s other side on the sofa, trying to avoid being stepped on or knocked over. “Hobbits are much more sensible.”

“The Lady told me about hobbits,” Anniel said, but her tone didn’t indicate that their tendency to be sensible had been part of the Lady’s teachings.

“She might have been speaking of Pippin,” Merry said. “Everyone knows he’s an idiot.”

Pippin punched him in the arm, and Anniel giggled.

“We’ll have to arrange for a maid and a tutor to tend to her…” Arwen was saying.

“I don’t need much tending to,” the little girl said. “And as for a tutor… I expect that my uncle will be training me, as I will be the next Steward after him and must learn my duties.”

All the motion and chatter stopped at this, and Boromir looked down at the slender little wisp of a girl.

“There has never been a lady Steward in all of the history of Gondor…”

“Well, there’s going to be one now,” she said cheerfully. “The Lady has seen it in her mirror.”

“Besides,” Merry said, “it’s not like you’re off producing your own heirs to take your place, Boromir.”

The man gave Merry a sharp glare. “That’s enough of that. Regardless, a Steward…”

“Must be prepared to serve the king and to lead his armies into battle,” Anniel said. “I’ll expect that they’ll have to make a sword small enough for me to practice with, but Merry and Pippin have told me how you taught them to fight, so certainly you can teach me.”

“You want to learn to wield a sword?” Boromir asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No… I want to learn how to defeat any man who challenges me with a sword,” she retorted.

Boromir glanced at his brother and couldn’t hide his smile. “I don’t think she gets that attitude from you, Faramir.”

“The council will never accept a female Steward…” Aragorn said.

“Oh, they will,” Arwen said. “They don’t have a choice. First of all, she’s the only heir. Second of all, the Lady Galadriel foretold it. And third of all… if they don’t like it, they’ll have to take it up with me.”

Boromir looked down at the child.

“I suppose that means we should start training you,” he said. “I wasn’t any older than you when they started training me.”

“We, of course, will have to help,” Pippin said.

Anniel looked at him curiously. “Are Stewards required to have hobbits?”

“That would be rather like saying dogs were required to have fleas,” Gandalf said.

“I resent that!” Pippin said.

“You were supposed to,” Merry pointed out.

“We’re a great help to the Steward.”

Boromir snorted. “If by ‘a great help’ you mean…”

“Never mind that,” Arwen interrupted. “It’s getting quite late, and no one has had supper. I’ll send a message to the kitchen, and someone should send for Berendir… and I’ll have the maids prepare one of our guest rooms for the young Lady Anniel.”

“Oh, am I a Lady?” she exclaimed, delighted.

“Of course. You’re the daughter of Captain Faramir, commander of the Rangers of Gondor, and the niece of Lord Boromir.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I can be a Lady and still fight, can’t I?”

Aragorn glanced at his wife. “Little one, if you grow up to be half as dangerous as my wife is, you will be a formidable adversary to any foe.”

“The Lady Galadriel said you would have things to teach me, too,” she said, looking to Arwen. “After all, I will be your son’s Steward.”

Arwen raised her eyebrows. “Did the Lady Galadriel tell you that?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Because I don’t have a son.”

“Not yet,” Boromir noted.

Arwen smiled, and Aragorn looked very pleased. After a moment, though, Arwen clapped her hands.

“All of you, off to wash up for supper! Anniel, my husband will show you where the washroom is. And yes, that means you two, as well.”

Merry and Pippin muttered as they were dismissed. Arwen placed a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, motioning for him to stay, and waited until the room was empty before speaking.

“Faramir?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“You seem more sad than joyful.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not that… I do understand the gift I’ve been given, and how rare it is for the Valar to…”

“She must be destined for something very special… something meant only for her.”

She rested her hand on his cheek. “You look at her and you only see the price you paid for her.”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t want to see her that way… I want to be overjoyed, and filled with love for her… but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at her and thinking that I traded Legolas for her…”

“No part of that was your choice, Faramir.”

“No, but I still have to live with it. And if it wasn’t for me and knowing how much I would have liked to have a child, he would never have done something so reckless and stupid…”

“Faramir,” Arwen said firmly. “What did my brothers tell you about Legolas?”

“That he seemed to make being reckless and stupid into something of a lifetime occupation,” he admitted.

“Come and have supper,” she said.

“While they’re preparing it, I should probably go and explain the situation to someone,” Faramir said.

Arwen winced. “Livien isn’t going to like this one bit, is she?”

 

 

 

Faramir rather expected that Livien would scream until her face turned terrible colors and upset the nursemaids. She didn’t, but she did crawl off to a corner of the nursery and sulk under the windowsill. She was still sulking a week later when Faramir came back, as he had every day, to try to make amends.

“She still wants nothing to do with me,” Faramir said.

Arwen smiled. “I fear my little princess may be a bit overly accustomed to having you to herself. She’ll come around eventually. Perhaps she and Anniel will even be playmates.”

“I doubt that,” Faramir said, laughing as Livien glared at him. “Anniel seems to have decided that the hobbits are the best playmates… although I’m a bit concerned about what they’re teaching her.”

“If she plans to be the Steward one day, their scheming and plotting and ability to create total chaos may be useful skills to learn.”

“She practices swordplay with Boromir every day,” Faramir said. “It’s quite funny… you should come watch. He was afraid of hurting her at first, until she whacked him in the shins a few times.”

“A hobbit trick, no doubt,” Arwen laughed. “And you, Faramir?”

He shrugged. “It’s… better. She’s so full of life, it’s hard to be sad when she’s with me. I read her stories in the evening… although at the rate she’s going, she’ll be reading in Westron and Sindarin soon enough by herself. She sits at the table with Boromir and Aragorn and tries to figure out the documents they’re working on.”

“She’s the child of two very clever parents.”

“But she’ll never know one of them,” Faramir said.

“She’ll know you. And you have endless love to give her, if you can manage to mend your broken heart.”

“Perhaps with time,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me… it doesn’t look as though Livien is ready to forgive me quite yet today.”

He walked down the hall, so lost in thought that it didn’t even strike him as odd that the door to his rooms was standing open. It wasn’t until he stepped into the room, still blinking from the bright light outside, that he realized there was a hunched figure sitting at the table.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, waiting for his vision to adjust to the dimmer light.

Receiving no reply, he warily approached the unmoving intruder and realized that he was wrapped in a hooded cloak. When there was no response to his presence, he reached out and pulled back the hood.

The face was gaunt, but still familiar, and the usually silk-smooth, neatly braided hair was tangled and loose around the thin shoulders. At Faramir’s shout of surprise, the blue eyes flickered open, exhausted, but still bright.

“Hello, Faramir.”

“Legolas… how… I thought…”

“Thought I was dead? I was… I think I was, anyway. I remember speaking to Mandos at the gates… I remember telling him that I would trade him… what was left of my immortality… if he would let me live long enough to come back to you and do what I had to do.”

Stunned, Faramir rested his hands on the elf’s cheeks and turned his face up as his voice began to fade.

“Legolas? What did you have to do?”

“Tell you that I was sorry. That the things I said… I meant none of them. And that if I did have my immortality left to me… I would love you for all my immortal life… and that now I will love you for all I have left of this one… if you’ll have me back.”

“If I’ll have you back… are you mad? Legolas, I…”

He hoped a kiss would say what he had no words for. When he drew back to look at the elf again, he was smiling.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“You were always forgiven.”

He frowned. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Faramir, and I should tell you now… I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”

Faramir felt a chill. “What?”

“I know it will grieve you to know it, but there was a child…”

Faramir slumped back, laughing. Legolas stared at him in bewilderment.

“You’re laughing?”

“There was a child… there is a child. She’s here, Legolas, and she’s beautiful, and right now she’s out practicing swordplay with my brother so she can lead the troops of Gondor when she’s the next Steward.”

Legolas scowled. “Don’t… that’s not funny. It’s not…”

“Father?”

Faramir looked toward the door, where a slender little figure in boots, breeches, and a very dusty tunic stood, her long coppery curls piled carelessly on top of her head, streaks of dirt across her cheeks.

“Finished with practice already?”

She grinned. “Uncle Boromir is cross with me. I hit him in the knee and he says he’ll limp for a week and he’s too old for… who is that, father?”

“Someone you should meet, little one.”

She stepped closer and her eyes widened. “You’re Legolas! I saw you in the Lady Galadriel’s mirror! But she said I would never meet you!”

“Even the Lady is wrong sometimes,” Faramir said.

“He looks much worse than he did in the mirror,” she said.

“Anniel! Manners!” Faramir scolded.

“I’m sure she’s right,” Legolas said. “I think it will take a few nights in a proper bed and more than a few proper meals before I look anything like what I’m supposed to…”

“It’s all right,” Anniel said. “I’ll help father take care of you until you’re well again.”

“Will you?” Legolas asked, then looked to Faramir. “This isn’t a hallucination, is it? It can’t be a trick… she’s too perfect. I thought a few times on the way here I was losing my mind… I must have been right.”

“I’m real,” she said. “Just ask Uncle Boromir to show you his knee.”

“Uncle Boromir…” Legolas sighed, and then, with some astonishment, “and she called you father.”

“She does that often,” Faramir said fondly.

“And what will she call me?” he asked, still dazed.

“Ada, of course,” she said. “Isn’t that what elves call their fathers?”

“Yes, little one,” Faramir said.

She beamed and threw her arms around the elf’s neck. “Ada, you will have to rest and get well quickly. I’ve heard that you’re the best archer and when I’m done learning swords I’ll have to start with arrows.”

“You’ll eventually have to learn other things, you know. Like table manners and how to wear a dress,” Faramir said.

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t fight in a dress. Or climb trees. And if I have to wear those silly ladies’ shoes, Merry and Pippin will start beating me in races.”

Legolas smiled wearily. “Well, that settles it, then. No daughter of mine is going to lose a race to a hobbit.”

“Horray! No ladies’ shoes for me!” she cheered, bolting out the door. “Wait till I tell Lady Arwen! She’ll be so mad…”

“You’ve been back less than a day and you’re going to have Arwen furious with you already,” Faramir said.

“It’s been far too long since I was here to irk her. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Faramir laughed and kissed him again, just because he could and just to make sure he was real, as Anniel’s laughter echoed in the stone halls outside.

 


End file.
